


Supernatural 2 ~ Midnight's Child

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Series: Supernatural [2]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Sex, Horror, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:07:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The birth of Charlotte and Horatio's daughter awakens something sinister within the walls of Myrtle Chase. Can they stop it before it destroys them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

One month after the Retribution's departure:

Old Mother chuckled to herself, sitting on the rough-hewn floor of the kitchen house, reading her cards. A warm, tropical breeze drifted in from the opened door, caressing the ancient woman's thick, callused dark skin, slightly rattling the many wooden beads she wore around her neck. Charlotte had, of course, offered her a high position in the household--a place of honor among the staff and a nice lush room in the manor house, but Old Mother had refused. This is where she'd lived almost all her life--through the old master...to Master Gabriel...to Mrs. Abigail...this was her home. Kitchen work was what she knew and she did it with pride. She felt Charlotte's presence even before the girl stepped foot within the kitchen house and called out, "What be troubling you, my girl? You come out here so uneasily?"

"I have the sickness anew," the young woman answered unsteadily. "I have been unable to keep my food down all morning and I feel faint. Do you think it's the fever again?"

"Tell me, child," Old Mother smiled knowingly, "Did ye take those herbs I gave ye every time you was wit yar man?"

Charlotte opened her mouth to speak but, as realization dawned on her, she found she could not say the words. Her eyes widened and she placed her hand upon her stomach, over her womb. She smiled and let out one strangled sob of joy, hardly daring to believe it true. "Not..." she licked her dry lips, "not the last night. I was hoping... Is it true? Tell me, please."

Old Mother laughed and clapped her hands together with delight. "You carry his child," she confirmed with gladness. "It grows within you now, the spirits have showed me; a girl child. And she will be favored! So have spoken the Loa!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Horatio was at sea, his mind worked as a mathematical equation: calculating and focused. Away and separate from Jamaica, that most haunted of isles had no power over him and he was able to think lucidly and sensibly. He thought so clearly on duty and function and responsibility, his head barely ever had time to wander save for at night. He hated night for that was when dreams had dominion; visions of wild, unruly, unkempt things possessed and manipulated his reason, things he had no control over and therefore they made him apprehensive and troubled. Though that was when, and only when, he allowed himself to think on Charlotte, as if it were his choice.

Horatio awoke with a start, sweating heavily. Charlotte, he knew something was wrong with Charlotte. Or maybe not wrong, just...different. Had the fever come on her again? She had written to him shortly after he'd left to tell him she'd taken ill. Panic stricken that she'd contracted yellow fever or some such deadly illness, he'd written to every respected doctor he knew of on the isle, demanding and paying for her examination. Commodore Pellew had been of great help during this time; seeking out and finding the best physicians Jamaica would yield. The answers had come quickly and were reassuring; it had been nothing more than a common fever, every doctor agreed. Now he was further out to sea, further from her reach and less likely to receive any of her sweet scented letters and something was...different. He checked for dispatches every week hoping to hear news from The Chase. None came.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eight months later:

"Push, child," midwife Maria Alva urged, poised between Charlotte's spread legs. The master bedroom of Myrtle Chase was dark save for the flickering lantern light and the orange glow coming from the hearth fire. Charlotte cried out again, the intense pain washing over her as she grabbed at the bedcovers and twisted them, hoping the grip would help to alleviate the fierce discomfort, a thick sheen of sweat beading upon her forehead. She felt Old Mother's comforting touch on her shoulder and leaned into the support. "I can see the child's head," Auntie Maria told them with a smile, then urged again, "Keep pushing, girl!"

"There now, child," Old Mother whispered calmingly. The ancient woman turned her head to the chambermaid, Hill, standing waiting with blankets for the new baby in the corner. "What time is it?"

"Close; only minutes till midnight," Hill replied, her brow furrowing with concern. "If the baby doesn't come soon..." she bit her lip under Old Mother's sharp glare.

Charlotte cried out again and Old Mother took her hand. The young woman once again felt the pain subside at the wise biddy's touch. "What's wrong?" she asked desperately, shaking and panting with the exertion of pushing. "Is there something wrong with my baby?"

"Nuttin', girl," Old Mother said soothingly. The clock ticked closer to twelve. "Your child is blessed, remember, I seen it in me cards." Another click closer and another push, and the grandfather clock in the hall began to chime its steady doleful toll. Charlotte's cries all but drown it out, as it chimed off, 4,5,6...

"It's coming, lovely!" Maria said excitedly. 8, 9, 10... The baby's entrance into the world followed Charlotte's final agonized scream, coming right as the clock tolled its solemn 12 and as the slatted shutters, caught in a sudden unexpected gust of wind, blew open and extinguished the lanterns and the smoldering embers of the hearth fire, leaving them blanketed in the secretive magical milky blue of night. With eyes that seemed to see through the darkness, the Mambo Alva cut the cord and handed the small thing to Hill who instantly wrapped it in the soft blanket she held in her arms. Whispering something in low hushed secretive voices, they dipped the impossibly small thing in a basin of heated water, their actions calm and fluid. "What's the matter, what's wrong, why isn't my baby crying!?" Charlotte asked uneasily as she collapsed backwards onto the pillows, tired and aching.

"Give her to her mother," Maria instructed Hill, who was all but weeping for joy. "Nothing, lovely. It's a little girl, Charley," she told her as the chambermaid handed the young woman her child, who instantly and instinctively curled up upon her breast.

Charlotte laughed giddily through her tears of emotion. "My little girl," she said, kissing the baby softly upon its sweet head. "My little Abigail." The name came naturally; she'd never even considered another. Abigail Hornblower; her daughter--their daughter.

Maria pulled Old Mother aside. "The first half is for the living. Midnight's child, Martha, she was born at the chiming of the second half."

"She was born in the in-between. The child is to be favored, I seen it in the cards," Old Mother hissed.

"Yes," the Mambo nodded, relighting the candles, "But by what, by whom?" She looked upon proud mother and child with uncertain dread in her large brown eyes. "You look after them, you hear me, old woman? The Loa are about but dark things are creeping at the edges; shadows within shadows. They need you now, you promise me you look after them."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Retribution reached port in Portsmouth and Horatio and his crew were given some time to rest. He was glad of it; glad to be back in England, glad to be on leave but he missed Charlotte terribly when his mind was not occupied with nautical matters. Soon after he was given command of a new ship, The Ardent, and sent out to sea again, with First Lieutenant Bush at his side much to his pleasure. The dispatches became rarer and rarer as he drifted further into enemy waters, but every day he prayed for word from her. None came until nigh on ten months after he had departed from Kingston. A large packet of letters, personal and official, was delivered to them by a supply ship with no less than five from Charlotte. With feigned but determined calmness, he set aside the official documents in his usually stolid cold manner though it was with trembling hands that he ripped at the messages from his wife, praying as he did so that she had not ill or, God forbid, something more serious had happened to his beloved.

"Well, Good God, man, tell me what's happened!" First Lieutenant Bush demanded, watching his captain and friend as his expression remained oddly neutral and he sank down into the chair behind his desk and rubbed his chin.

"It's Charlotte," Horatio said, his voice breaking with exceptional emotion, causing Will to brace himself for the worst. "She's with child. I'm going to be a father!" Quickly he opened the other four notes and his expression lightened each time as she had tried to keep him updated on each event. Her first discovery of the fact; when she'd begun to show (Oh how he wished he'd been there to lay his head against her swelling belly, to touch it, to kiss it, to talk through her womb to their baby); Maria Alva helping with the morning sickness (there was a note here explaining that the old woman had earned enough money with her talents to buy her own freedom); Old Mother's fussing; Hill's fussing; Bones glad to be a Godfather to the child, etc. etc. With tears standing in his eyes, he came to the last one: she'd given birth, a perfectly healthy little girl whom she named Abigail (for what other name could there be for a daughter born to The Chase?); both mother and daughter were doing fine. She sent her love along with a few racy details on how much she missed him and what they would do when he returned which made Horatio blush as he read them silently to himself in front of Bush. "I am a father," he said finally, a bright awkward smile spreading across his face. "Charlotte," he murmured to himself, placing his hand over his breast pocket in which he kept her miniature portrait and the protection charm she'd given him. He realized his heart was thundering.

Bush grinned, "May I be the first to offer my congratulations, Captain. Now about those," he said, dubiously glancing towards the official dispatch.

Exhaling deeply, Horatio took it in his hand, broke the wax seal and read it contemplatively. After a moment of silence, in which Will dreaded they were being ordered to return to the front, the Captain spoke, "We are to rejoin the fleet in the Indies. There we are to wait in Kingston until such time as they feel fit as to recall us. I believe we are being given leave, Mr. Bush." He sat back in his chair rubbing his chin, not able to suppress a certain sense that Pellew was somehow responsible for this bit of good fortune.


	2. Chapter 2

"'Hoy there, Mrs. Hornblower," the familiar kindly face of Mr. Matthews called over the side of the ship as she docked. Charlotte had felt no small amount of pride in watching The Ardent coming in, though hundreds of war ships came in and out of port monthly it was obvious just from the look of it that this ship was special; this was her husband's ship.   
  
She was wearing her cream and mint striped dress, just as she had the day she'd come to him at the inn in Kingston, though it fit her now ill for she was somewhat plumper than she had been then due to the pregnancy, and a lovely straw hat to shade her from the blaring sun. She was itching with excitement to hold Horatio again, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.  
  
Her first sight of him sent thrills up and down her spine. He was standing stoically at the bow; his hands were folded behind his back and he looked every inch the celebrated hero she knew him to be though there was something about his face, his features hard and impassive like stone, that caused her to almost not recognize him.  
  
She waited patiently, or appeared to be doing so for inside she was doing flip-flops, while the ship was moored and affairs settled; dunnage and cargo unloaded, sailors dismissed. Mr. Bush departed first, bowing to her and giving her a little knowing smile. "Congratulations, Mrs. Hornblower, and may I say that motherhood agrees with you much for you are as radiant as ever."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Bush," she said with a smile, but she was already glancing over his shoulder, searching for her Horatio. And there he was finally, coming towards her.  
  
"See here, Mr. Bush," he said in a playfully stern tone, "What do you do with my wife? Are you such a cad you try to work your wiles on the mother of my child?"  
  
"She is immune, I'm afraid, for even as I offer my compliments to your family she is ever looking over my shoulder for you," Bush replied with a smile and Charlotte colored at having been found out. "I see my carriage awaits me for that splendid inn of my lodging..."  
  
"Oh Horatio, tell me you're not making him stay in that horrendous excuse for a boardinghouse again, are you?" Charlotte frowned. "Indeed you are not, for I insist Mr. Bush come stay as our guest at Myrtle Chase! And do not think to argue with me, Mr. Bush; I've become quite accustom in my year running The Chase to getting my way!" she declared firmly.  
  
Bush bit back a laugh, "Indeed I believe you have, ma'am, but I think perhaps you and your husband have some catching up to do and will not want me hanging about. And... there are memories at The Chase best left half remembered. Thank you for the offer anyway. Good day, Mrs. Hornblower, and to you, Captain; be wary of this one," he said throwing Horatio a wink, "She's accustom to having her way and you are as stubborn as a jackass. Quite a pair you'll make." With a salute, he turned and strolled away, disappearing into the crowd.  
  
Horatio swept Charlotte into his arms tightly, pressing his lips to hers passionately. "Oh, my love," he murmured, savoring the taste of her sweet lips and the feel of her slightly plumper body pressed against his, "how I have missed you." With surprising fervor, she returned his hungry kisses, teasing him with wanton flicks of her tongue. He pulled away, flushed from arousal and embarrassment. "People will stare, Charley."  
  
"People are already staring, Horatio," she told him, a strange sadness and resignation in her tone. "Let them stare, this lot has seen worse," she concluded playfully. "And you are being as indecent as I, I do believe, Captain Hornblower."  
  
Horatio, obviously lost in the moment, in the haze of delirium brought on by holding her again after so long, grinned; the wary impact her words should have taken lost on him. "Then let them all see how much I love my wife. But where is my daughter?" he asked eagerly. "No, you would not bring her down to this place," he answered himself. "I wish you hadn't come yourself; it's a dangerous location for unescorted young ladies. Is she beautiful? Of course she is, she came from you. How could she not be?"  
  
"I do not fear in coming here alone for I did many times as a servant to The Chase," Charlotte smiled at his silently giddy manner and flustered feign at control. "And your daughter is the most divine creature I've ever laid my eyes upon, save for her father of course," she told him with luminous eyes. "She has your hair," she twirled a feathery lock around her finger, "soft and curled and brown, just like her papa. You shall see her soon enough, the carriage from The Chase waits. Get your dunnage and let's be off."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Horatio drew the curtains of their carriage and laid his head against his wife's breast, stroking her thigh softly through the thin cotton of her dress. Already the spell of the island had begun to take him down into its thick sensual shadowy depths. "How I have missed you...missed this," he grinned, reveling in her warmth. "I do not know for which I am more eager, to hold my child in my arms or my beautiful wife in my bed."  
  
"You'll have time enough for both, my sweet," she smiled as he nuzzled her bosom, resting her cheek on top of his head, his fine, curled hair tickling her nose. "I missed you too. Too long were you gone! Next time you tell me six months you better demmed well make sure of it," she kidded him.  
  
"It was only supposed to be six months, Charley. At the last we were called away again, for a mission that they entrusted only to us," he said with pride. "If it had been otherwise, I would have been here. Oh, how I wish I could have been there," he sighed, petting her belly tenderly.  
  
Charlotte groaned, "Oh no, you don't! It was awful, Horatio! I was large and round and irritable, and when the time came I was in unbelievable pain! I probably would have twisted your head off or something equally as horrid! It was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me," she grinned and he sat up, taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. He pressed kisses along her chin and her neck, before moving his hands down to her bosom and cupping the now grand swell of her breasts, lowering his head to caress the soft skin of her cleavage with his tongue and lips and nose. They were so soft, so supple bursting over the brim of her dress he just wanted to bury his face in their warmth. Her giggle turned into a low moan. "I believe you're being indecent again, Mr. Hornblower," she said teasingly.  
  
"How? By wanting my wife? By loving her?" he answered, continuing his attentions. "We are no longer in public, madam, which means you are all mine for the time being." Her captured her mouth again and she could feel in the roughness of the kiss his deepening desire. His name came from her lips on a regretful sigh and he nodded, groaning, "I know, I know, we're almost to The Chase. And just wait till we get there, Mrs. Hornblower, I will redefine indecency for you, my love," he pledged with a wicked quirk to his lips.  
  
"Is that a promise, Horatio?" she grinned, biting her lip coyly.  
  
"Most certainly," he returned her smile, affectionately brushing a few stray locks of her wispy hair from her face.  
  
"Horatio...." she started and his only response was a small inquisitive noise as he nuzzled and nibbled at her neck, still caressing her breasts with over-eager hands, "While you are in such an agreeable mood, there's something else I feel I should tell you. Please don't be cross with me, love. When I found out I was with child, I wrote to your father. I thought it only fair as he did not attend our wedding." She felt Horatio pause. "He made the crossing just to see his granddaughter, Horatio; he's here, at The Chase."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Horatio's emotions were so conflicted as he stepped from the carriage and took his first look at The Chase in almost eleven months. It was a welcome sight; it was home and yet it seemed oddly unfamiliar and stifling. The lush tropical foliage surrounding the path that led up to the manor house; the way the bright, blindingly white sunlight filtered lazily through the gently swaying palm trees and blanched the ground white. They passed through the gatemarkers and the beautiful plantation house came into sight.   
  
Hill stood at the door; a bundle cradled in her arms and he felt his stomach doing turns as he realized what it was. The woman happily handed the small thing over to Horatio, who took it as gently as gentle can be and held it cautiously against his chest as if he might break it. Tiny brown eyes stared up at him through the thick cotton blanket; a shock of feather soft brown curls adorning the babe's sweet little head. It yawned and, with a smile that would melt the flintiest of hearts, reached out to her daddy with tiny chubby fingers and hands. Horatio felt the hotness of pride stinging his cheeks as he held the small thing in his arms, feeling its warmth against him, burning into his heart. Charlotte laid her cheek against his shoulder. "See how happy she is to see her papa," she whispered lovingly.  
  
"She's so small," he said with wonder as one of her petite little fists curled around his finger while he was tickling her chin. His child, in his arms; he couldn't get his mind around the thought. This wonderful little thing was his; he and Charlotte created it with their love.  
  
"She's a baby, Horatio," Charlotte smiled with a soft tinkling laugh, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Baby's are small." She pressed herself tightly against his large sturdy frame, rubbing her sun kissed cheek against the scratchy blue wool of his jacket lost in the moment; watching her husband hold their child for the first time was more intoxicating, more stimulating than the sweetest, warmest honeyed elixir gliding down her throat. She felt a heat spread throughout her originating not from the unrelenting mid-day sun but from within. She felt wetness spread between her thighs and blushed, knowing full well it wasn't perspiration. "And I believe it is about time for her afternoon feeding," she said taking the small thing from Horatio's awkward grip. She kissed him gently on the lips and told him, "Your father is waiting for you. Best not to keep him waiting long."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Sir," Horatio said, entering the parlor, as rigid and formal as if he were facing a superior officer. The figure seated by the window stood, tall and lank yet with a surprisingly powerful and imposing build. Just like his son. The streaks of gray and silver in Dr. Samuel Hornblower's chestnut hair gleamed in the room's golden filtered sunlight, his stern face and articulate eyebrows regarding his offspring harshly. "This is a...surprise," Horatio said uncomfortably.  
  
"Not an unpleasant one, I hope," his father countered with equal unease. "Your wife has been more than courteous to me. I must say the shock was palpable when I received your letter informing me you'd taken the vows."  
  
"Matters were somewhat rushed by the inconvenience of The Retribution's call to duty," Horatio responded somewhat apologetically. "Would that I could have contacted you in time but circumstance, alas, did not allow for it."  
  
"Indeed," his father said, raising a dark eyebrow that mirrored his son's own. He was looking for a delicate fashion in which to put to Horatio his next question for truly it was a dangerous one. "And was she...in the way when you were married?"  
  
Horatio felt the heat of his temper rise about his neck and collar. "Just what are you implying, sir?!"   
  
The senior Hornblower had boldly chartered a very hazardous territory: Did you marry a colored woman of no property, for she had none at the time when they were married, because you had carelessly gotten her with child? The question hung between them dangerously unspoken but undeniably there. Samuel knew that his son had always been a man of impeccable honor and responsibility; it seemed just the foolhardy thing he'd do if faced with such a situation.   
  
"I only learned of Charlotte's condition near a month ago," Horatio responded coldly. "Dear God," he hissed in a lower, more passionate voice, "I would never throw my own father from my house but should you ever voice that opinion here or anywhere else, or Sweet Jesu, to Charlotte herself, you will be cast from my threshold indefinitely! Is that understood?"  
  
"Truly," his father nodded. A silence hung between them; thick, uncomfortable and suffocating. Samuel stood resolutely in the face of his accusation, never backing down for a moment but he recognized the warning in Horatio's brown eyes, which were capable of holding such warmth, such admiration and yet now only held an unreadable expression, hard and cold as flint. In them Samuel could see for the first time the captain his inexperienced, lonely young boy had become. He nodded and repeated, "Truly. Now you must excuse me for I believe you have said all you had to say to me and it is time for you to catch up on affairs with your wife." He walked towards the doorway, brushing past his son as he went and admitting quietly, placing a strong hand on Horatio's shoulder and squeezing fondly yet awkwardly for, though his bedside manner was incomparable and his patients swore lifelong allegiances with him for it, never had he fully understood how to share his emotions with his only child, "It is good to see you again, son." With that he left.  
  
Horatio sighed and rubbed his weary eyes. Well, that went somewhat better than he'd expected, considering the circumstances. Now to find Charlotte. Damned thing was, he hardly even knew his way around his own home!


	3. Chapter 3

The nursery was a small cheerful room at the west wing of the house, near the master bedroom. A large opulent wooden trundle bed sat at the center, draped in mosquito netting and painted white with an elaborate illustration of a smiling moon colored upon the headboard. The rest of the room followed that decoration, the wooden floor and slatted shutters painted as off white as the crib, the walls a soft shade of blue like the sky over the ocean at dusk. Clouds were painted on the ceiling with tiny brilliant yellow stars peeking through. Facing the opened verandah door was a rocking chair, positioned so it would catch every warm, welcoming breeze that came off the cane fields and the sea. Charlotte sat in the seat with her back to the door, cradling little Abigail to her breast as the baby fed. She was staring peacefully out past the verandah, past the grounds and the fields, to some far off place seen only by her eyes, her head resting against her shoulder serenely.

She didn't hear Horatio enter or the oh so careful footfalls of his heavy boots against the plank floor as he approached, so lost was she in whatever faraway fantasy was playing itself out behind her soft brown eyes. He came up beside her and gently placed a hand on her arm. She started slightly then smiled up at him, leaning into his touch. He knelt beside her, brushing his knuckles across her jawline, then dropping his hand to his daughter's small head to caress the thin silky curls thereupon. Abigail's head was turned inward, her tiny features obscured as she suckled Charlotte. A lump caught in Horatio's throat. He knew technically that this is what was done, he was not naive with such matters, his father was a doctor after all; he had even witnessed in his youth, accompanying his father on calls, a woman in the throes of childbirth. But the sight of Charlotte, his wife, the mother of his child, his love, holding and nurturing their daughter in such a manner brought a flush of tenderness and adoration on him, among other things. A different kind of heat, so deviant, so lustful, so delicious in its indecency, flooded him.

"What are you dreaming of?" he asked delicately, playing with a wispy lock of her black hair and brushing it from her face gently. "Something out there?"

"What I dreamt about every day, what I used to see every time I looked out that window," Charlotte replied with an ethereal smile, stroking the back of his hand with her fingertips as it rested against her cheek, "It's not out there anymore. It came home today." Horatio smiled slightly and leaned forward to kiss her softly, placing small sucking kisses along the smooth coffee colored skin of her bared shoulder. Abigail stirred and twisted in her arms to regard her papa, chuckling cheerfully. "I think her little tummy is full," Charlotte said happily as she buttoned up her bodice, giving Horatio a quick, illicit glimpse of her exposed full, heavy breast and the tightly erect swollen nub of her dusky nipple wet with little Abigail's saliva and a tiny droplet of milk at it's tip. Much to his embarrassment, he felt his body growing hot and rigid with desire and his mouth watered with want as he contemplated stripping her of her clothes and drawing the tight solid peak into the moist heat of his mouth, suckling her as Abigail had. His arousal was keen; he flattened his palm, rubbing it against the burgeoning pouch at the front of his breeches, electricity shooting through him as he turned away from her and tried to bite back a moan, hoping Charlotte was blinded to his libidinous actions by the shifting of his position.

"Nap time," she announced as she rose and, in one swift movement, swung a towel over her shoulder, burped the baby and placed the her in the crib, looking over her proudly. Horatio was amazed and filled with happiness at how instinctive her actions were; she was a natural. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her hair softly and placing his large slender hands on her belly.

"Poor Charley, did you miss me much while I was away?" he asked tenderly.

"You know I did, Horatio," she replied quietly, reaching back to stroke his jaw. He turned his head so his mouth rested in her palm. He kissed her there deeply, letting his tongue trace the contours of her hand. "But whenever I was alone or lonely, you were always there, in the darkness with me. Always ready to jump in after me."

"Charlotte," he whispered huskily, pressing his lips to her ear, letting his warm breath tickle her with excitement. His grip on her tightened, pulling her back against him firmly so she could feel the hardened evidence of his growing lust push against her round bottom as his hand moved from her stomach to her breast, finding and stroking through the material that tantalizing little bud of her nipple. He licked his lips, delicately brushing the shell of her ear with his tongue, making her shiver in delight. "My sweet, I have been away for so very long with naught but the memory of my beautiful wife filling my dreams and haunting me. I cannot wait till tonight for you." His next words carried a hint of danger; a thick edgy tone heavy like honey and the sting of its bee together in his voice: "I want you, I *need* you now." She turned to him breathlessly, parting her lips to meet his desperate kiss. He crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue forcing its way inside; tasting, ravaging, rediscovering.

Horatio hardly had time to admire the splendor of the master bedroom, his new sleeping chamber and certainly something much grander than anything he'd ever had before, as he pushed Charlotte up against the wall and forced her skirts up to her waist. He ran his hand up the smoothness of her stockings, to the garters at her thighs until he could feel her silky skin beneath the touch of his fingertips. She parted her legs for him instantly and, bending his knee, he insinuated his leg between hers so that she rode high on his thigh, lifting her up to level height; her toes barely touched the wooden floor. She could feel the tickly woolen fabric rub seductively against the dampened lips of her sensitive core, her coarse feminine hair prickling against the rough material. "Horatio," she gasped out, moving against him as he unbuttoned the front flap of his breeches. He moved his leg, hooking her knee over his thigh as he grasped her other thigh in the tight grip of his large hand, spreading her open to him as he managed to undo his trousers and pull his shirt up so his long throbbing prick was exposed. He was as exquisite as she remembered, more so, his long thick rod springing from its nest of dark curls at his groin, its swollen head glistening with the confirmation of his urgency. His fingers moved between her legs, parting the fleshy shell of her sex as the crimson, passion engorged crown of his penis brushed against her delicate silken skin, finding the place to push in with familiar accuracy. Powering his hips forward he buried himself all the way into her moist softness aggressively. There would be time later for savoring and loving, right now he needed her in the most fundamental way a man could need the woman he loved, his wife; he needed reclamation, to take possession, to have her. He bucked his hips savagely and plunged into her; deeper and harder each time.

Shivers wrenched her body as his cock lightly brushed her clitoris every time he pushed in roughly and he began accentuating each penetration with a circular grinding motion when he was inside her fully, making sure she felt him in the very deepest most secret places of her body. She had forgotten what it had been like, feeling him sink into the deepest recesses of her core, sliding in and out easily drenched in her body's slick juices. She couldn't imagine any other man fitting within her as perfectly as he did; filling her so completely, stretching the tight satin walls of her sex to their very limits without causing her pain. She cried aloud at each of his penetrations, moving her hips to meet each of his greedy thrusts. She wrapped the leg not supported by his thigh around his waist, letting him enter ever the more deeply, relinquishing herself completely to his overwhelming, all encompassing lust and finding her own satisfaction and rapture in his craving and the satiation of his commanding needs. Her neck lost its mooring and her head fell back, her half lidded eyes drinking in the sumptuousness of his bliss defined features; his full parted lips as his thick tongue licked them lustfully again and again, his tightly shut eyes, his dark furrowed brow all concentrated on giving and receiving pleasure. She moaned deeply and the reverberating sound caused his eyes to flutter open, to look on her as she did he; with pools of deepest darkest brown lit with hunger and gratification. She had no idea how, with the intensity of their union and the fact that'd he'd been to sea for so long without companionship, he was managing to hold out for so long.

Gazing upon her, her silken black hair shaken loose from its confines, her face reflecting the sheer and utter joy she was experiencing from feeling him inside of her, his heart swelled with ardor. "Don't...stop," she whispered panting heavily and Horatio knew her moment of crisis was upon her. He held her tightly, tenderly, as he kissed her swollen lips desperately and she shouted her orgasm against his mouth, the muscles of her womanhood undulated and contracted, trapping him in a vice grip, milking and massaging his invasive cock. She clawed at the wool of his uniform jacket and raked her fingers through his achingly soft curls as shudders wracked her body and ecstasy washed over her like breakers on the shore line. She sent him tumbling over the edge with her soft warm body's surrender, the feel of her thick come running down his balls and drenching the fabric of his trousers making his senses spin; he grunted as he gave one last barbaric push, his hot seed spilling strongly into her womb, he thrust with each fierce discharge, the tension like an ever-tightening coil within his lower belly finally finding release after eleven long months. She felt some of his sticky essence trickling down her inner thigh as she sagged against him, exhausted and spent. No longer able to support his own weight let alone hers, he lifted her into his arms and staggered towards the bed. Parting the mosquito netting he laid her upon the coverlet as gently as he could muster and collapsed beside her.

His strength and sense sapped by the feral ferocity of their mating, all Horatio could do for the time being was lay on his back, his chest heaving harshly as he gazed up at the opulently carved ceiling dazedly, wondering somewhere in the back of his unconscious brain if this was just another of the alluring, arousing dreams he'd had during the months of their separation aboard the Retribution. Charlotte's flighty giggling brought him back to reality and, with a smile pressed on his full mouth, he managed to turn on his side so he was laying against her. "I told my captain he would be somewhat more urgent after his time out to sea," she said with a grin as she pressed her fingertips to his lips.

"You were correct," he chuckled, running his long slender fingers soothingly against the exposed flesh of her inner thigh. He frowned as a thought occurred to him. He placed his hand on her belly and looked into her eyes questioningly. "I didn't mean...I hope I didn't, I mean, I didn't intend to..."

"You didn't hurt me, Horatio," she leaned forward, affectionately placing a smacking kiss on his full lips. "I am well healed from Abigail's birth. You needn't worry about being gentle with me; you always are." She ran her fingers through his soft hair and he smiled, catching her wrist and bringing her palm to his lips. She was so beautiful and he had missed her so much; a sentiment he found himself unused to. When he'd started his career in the Navy he had left nothing behind; nothing to miss, nothing to long for. Naught but the memory of a dead mother that had once loved him and an emotionally cold father, both of which he was eager to leave behind him. But being away from Charlotte, from The Chase, it had been as if an important piece of him had gone missing. He hadn't understood it until now; touching her, kissing her, holding her in his arms. It wasn't just about satiating appetites and urges every man felt after so many months without a woman, it was about being with his wife; making love to her, watching her hold their child. Embarrassed by his earlier urgency, he now felt and stroked her lovingly; almost worshipfully. He felt the stirrings of his arousal once more and tucked himself back inside his breeches before he could lose himself to it again. Adoringly, protectively, he drew her skirt, which was still hiked above her waist, down her body, petting the fabric smooth. She wore no stays and hardly any undergarments and the feel of her soft, supple body beneath the confinement of her dress thrilled his fingertips. He grinned at her, a wicked thing, before descending upon her neck, gently nuzzling and kissing the slender column of cocoa-colored skin. "Do you remember the dress, Horatio?" she asked, delightedly playing with one of his sweat dampened brown curls.

He nipped delicately at the place just below her jaw where her pulse was thundering, telling her, "How could I ever forget it, Charley? Opening the door to my room at that ghastly inn and seeing you standing there like a vision." He moved up to her face and, gently cradling her head in his large hand pressed his lips to hers lightly. He brushed her hair from her brow as he gazed into her eyes and said, "I still remember how you looked as you fell asleep in my arms; so beautiful." Her breath quickened as she met his stare; the love, the passion, the devotion she found there in the large swirling brown depths of his eyes boring into her heart and flooding her with the heat of her own passion and emotion for him.

"We should be getting ready for dinner," she said quietly, the catch in her breath betraying her. The scent of sex was coming off his body like the headiest of intoxicants; she knew that supper would soon be ready and if they did not break their excited sensual spell between them now they would most likely let their long suppressed desires take control again. "They'll be plenty of time for us tonight, Horatio," she assured him.

He brushed his lips against hers one last time and rolled away from her with a groan. He knew she was right as he sat up and shimmied to the edge of the bed, tucking his shirt into his breeches and buttoning the front flap of the garment up. His father would be waiting to dine with them and the last thing he wanted to do was to give the already skeptical older man the impression that he was insatiable and uncontrolled in his carnal appetites when it came to Charlotte. Which brought him back to the question that had been nagging at him since his confrontation with his father earlier. "Charley," he said tentatively.

"Mmmmmmm?" she inquired, still lost in the lusty haze of their love making as she too removed herself from the bed and began to undress.

"Has my father....said anything...untoward to you?"

She turned to him suddenly, caught off guard by his question. For a moment, a rush of strange and startling emotions crossed her features and then she smiled a small almost sad sort of a thing. How could she explain to him what she had endured for the past eleven months; the rumors, the innuendo spoken by the idle and vindictive voices of the British upper class of Jamaica. She had never thought of the word 'exotic' as being an insulting or hateful term until it had started being applied to her in almost every conversation by the sneering, posturing gentry of the island. His father had been kind, though somewhat amiss at the fact that she had not had a real doctor present at the birth, but in his eyes also she saw the same suggestion of bigotry and obscene fascination. "He has said nothing to me that I have not heard from others, Horatio," she answered somewhat flatly. "Come, get yourself together. We'll be late."


	4. Chapter 4

The sight of his father made Horatio bristle as they entered the lesser dining room. Charlotte's vague and unconvincing answer to his question earlier had only left him with more suspicions as to how Samuel might have treated his wife while he was to sea. Coldly and formally he nodded towards the older man, helping Charlotte to her seat. The older Hornblower stood and bowed slightly and stiffly as his son's wife sat, waiting until Horatio sat to retake his seat.

So much had remained the same during Horatio's time at sea yet so much was changed. The house as ever looked as if he had never left but the faces of the servants who now surrounded him were largely unfamiliar to him. Mrs. Bennett, despite her care for her freedmen Negro servants, had had mainly whites in the higher positions among the household. He could see now that Charlotte had changed that and now chiefly folk of color held those posts; Horatio even recognized a few from his last stay at The Chase as being close friends of his wife's. The other principal transformation was that he was now master of the house; he held Abigail's seat at the head of the table and the servants all bowed to him reverently and called him 'sir.'

It all felt odd and uncomfortable to the shy, clumsy, inexperienced boy he had once been but he was sure in time he would learn it. After all, he had Charlotte by his side and in the end that was all that really mattered to him anyway. That was all he had ever wanted and she was as she had always been; warm, beautiful, gentle if somewhat more buxom and finely dressed. Her coloring flushed a heated rouge when she realized he was staring at her, smiling his naughty little boy smile. Her sable hair fell about her face and shoulders in a shower of ringlets and her cream and powder pink patterned dress cut a low and intriguing path across her supple bosom. His eyes couldn't help but follow her neckline's path, drinking in the sight of her. Her sharp intake of breath told him she was aware of his lusting gaze.

She still felt the fever of his demanding yet passionate love-making between her thighs and the wetness pooling there within now under his attentive gaze. The angles of his face still glowed with the radiance of their sex, and his full sensuous mouth urged kisses she was eager to give him. A thrill ran up her spine as his thick tongue darted out between his luscious lips for a quick lick. She thought of the glimpse she had caught of him touching himself before, in the nursery, and felt her temperature rising as she imagined her hand there, teasing and stroking his magnificent male part to full attention. Tonight she would hold his naked nubile body in her arms for the first time in nearly eleven months; she would explore every muscular yet lean crest and valley with her own mouth and hands, delighting in the sounds wrenched from his throat at her intimate touch. She had something special planned for him tonight, a surprise she knew he'd enjoy. But it would have to wait and she would have to bring her mind back down to where she was now for Dr. Hornblower was beginning to get impatient with the room's awkward silence.

Samuel cleared his throat, achieving his son's concentration. "I trust you find my granddaughter well?" he ventured, breaking the tension-filled hush.

"She was quite well when I left her," Charlotte answered amiably with a demure smile. She had just come from the nursery where she had fed little Abigail and put her abed. "She was sleeping peacefully." She couldn't help but observe with a smile that both father and son behaved identically when uncomfortable; the same shuffling about in their seats, the same nervous mannerisms.

"She is a good child," Dr. Hornblower observed with a slight stab of pride evident upon his features. "I think that I have scarcely ever heard the little thing cry. A quiet child, indeed a more pleasant babe seldom have I come across, even in all my years as a physician."

"I'm sure you can owe that, sir," Horatio said stiffly, not caring for the tone his father was taking with his wife, "to sweet Charlotte's agreeable disposition for," he added with a hint of a grin and of a self-deprecating sense of humor, "I am sure it has nothing to do with my own sullen demeanor." He felt Charlotte's small hand upon his knee beneath the table, squeezing gently, reassuringly, and his love for her grew evermore so. He slipped his own beneath the screen of the tabletop and moved her sender fingers upwards to the inside of his thigh with a naughty, broad smile. She scowled at him impishly and gave him a playful slap upon his knee before removing her hand completely. 'Later, my love,' she seemed to tell him with her eyes, throwing him a coy look.

"But it is good she has inherited her father's appearance," Samuel observed boldly and disregardfully. Charlotte gasped quietly, her features falling at once. Horatio bolted upright, his bearing becoming cold and rigid as he felt Charlotte withdraw and seemingly shrink at the careless suggestion. The meaning of his words were clear: it was good that Abigail did not carry the appearance of a Negro or that of a mixed blood such as she was. But Charlotte recovered quickly, trying to quell the anger she saw in Horatio's face with a quick smile and a meager but melodious laugh.

"Truly it is, sir," she agreed, "for I could think of no one quite so enjoyable to look upon such as her father." Horatio paused; how could she have ignored a comment such as his father had just made?! How could she let it blow over as if nothing had been said at all, or as if she had mistaken his meaning?! He was glad when she excused herself upon finishing her meal, kissing him tenderly upon the cheek and retiring to her room, so he could speak with his father alone.

They moved into the study, which had very seldom been used since Mr. Bennett's death for there had not been a man of the house since, and finally Horatio unloosed his forcibly subdued fury. "What do you mean, sir," he said coolly and calmly through tight lips, "by saying such things as you did tonight before my wife?! Did I not just this afternoon make it perfectly clear that such comments should not be made in front of her?! Perhaps you misunderstood me."

"It was a harmless remark, Horatio," his father responded flatly.

"But the implication behind it was not, sir," Horatio said tersely. He rubbed his forehead harshly, trying to figure out what he should do next. He had warned his father but could he truly cast him from his home? The friendless, lonely boy still in him wanted badly to believe his father had the best intentions at heart but the man he was, who loved Charlotte dearly and above all else, could not. Here was the man, the competent Captain the boy had become in all of his glory; stern, commanding, unyielding.

"I came here to make amends," his father offered plainly though not apologetically. "We have not been close, son, and I take the blame for that. After your mother died...I did not know how to raise a child by myself. Charlotte is a very loving mother but do not tell me you have not considered the consequences of your union. She is the bastard of a slave..."

"Do not speak of my wife in such a manner, sir!" Horatio finally raised his voice in anger, pounding his fist against a table. The thing buckled under the impact but did not break. "She was a freed woman when we met, working as a paid servant! She may not have been educated as you and I have been but she is bright and knows numbers and letters which is more than I can say for most so-called ladies of society!" he scoffed. "Further more, she is the wife to your only son, the mother to your only grandchild and, as she wishes Abigail to know you, I will not go against her. But realize I will not tolerate such things!"

"Then there is a long road ahead," Dr. Hornblower informed him. "People talk, Horatio; especially when they've nothing better to do with themselves. And the Chase has become the subject of much talk as of late, the nighttime activities of the coloreds around these parts hardly go unnoticed, particularly when those participating fail to take the precautions I feel certain they once did." Good Gawd, did he know about the cove and the strange customs and rites of the servants? Were his words those of intolerance or warning? "She's waiting for you; go. I believe this specific talk is over."

Horatio had no intention of ending the conversation there but his father's words had caught him off guard and, as if they had knocked the wind out of him, he could not come up with a response without losing his temper completely. His anger still simmered but a strong sense of confusion now set in; fear, concern. His last words to Samuel were, "Do not mention to anyone what you might have seen here; do this one thing for me." It was a command not a request. With that, he turned sharply and he left the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio stood in the darkness just outside of the master bedroom's decorative double doors. He had no idea how long he'd been standing there; was it ten minutes? Or maybe a half an hour. He wondered if he'd find Charlotte crying, or perhaps she'd be bravely sitting on the bed waiting for him; silent and wounded though proud and defiant. Whatever he'd been expecting to find he certainly was not prepared as he drew open the door for the sight of her bent over a basin of steaming water, her cheeks flushed from the heat as they had been this afternoon from his loving, her hair loose and wild about her as her thin cotton shift clung seductively to the curves of her body. She smiled, a smile of genuine warmth and love, and told him, "I wondered when you'd get up here. I thought you might have gotten lost again. I've prepared something for you." She motioned to the apparel adorning his upper body and advised him, "Better get those off."

"What are you up to then?" he asked with a curious but randy grin as he slid his jacket off of his shoulders and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. He kicked off his shoes as he removed the article of clothing, and pulled his shirt form his waistband and up over his head. Charlotte's senses were instantly inflamed at her first glimpse of her husband in the (almost) altogether in nearly eleven months. His chest was smooth, lean yet powerfully muscular, his stomach flat and solid. Despite the warm night wind that drifted in through the opened verandah doors and the thin sheen of sweat that glossed his torso, his brown nipples chaffed and grew taut under his wife's attentive gaze as he stripped. Lastly, he removed his stockings and, pulling her roughly against him, took her mouth in a fierce and wanting kiss. The feel of her soft body, separate only from his own by the thin cotton of her camisole, as it molded into his sent waves of heat and pleasure throughout him congregating in and around the sensitive and now tightening area of his groin and belly. He moaned softly against her lips and, breaking the kiss, she giggled and wiggled out of his arms, taking in hand the washcloth that rested on the table-board besides the filled basin. He shot her a questioning glance.

"I know you abhor the heat here, Horatio," she replied lightly, dipping the cloth into the basin's heated water. "A bath will help, except I couldn't find a basin big enough for you to fit in so I'm afraid this will have to do." Horatio gasped and shuddered as she moved around him and oh so gently pressed the waterlogged cloth to his back, just between his prominent shoulder blades, running it along his spine to his sweat dampened neck where, standing on her tip toes, lifted his queue and placed a kiss at the nape. Slowly she worked the washcloth across his slender shoulders, moving in a circular motion, messaging the tense muscles as she went. He was melting at her touch, his head swimming with desire, his knees growing weak as she ran the cloth down the elegant curve of his spine until she reached his waistband. She renewed the cloth's moisture, submerging it once again in the basin before continuing. She kept herself pressed firmly against his back as she lifted his arms and washed each one with equal affection and care, from wrist to elbow to armpit and down the deliciously ticklish skin of his sides. She wrapped her arms around him then, running the washcloth against his chest, teasing the solid nubs of his nipples with the roughness of the sodden scrap of fabric. He groaned deep and low in his throat and pushed his bottom backwards into the tender cradle of her thighs as she slowly licked and kissed the space between his shoulder blades, drinking in eagerly the potent masculine scent of his rising arousal. The washcloth skirted his stomach. "Take off you pants, Horatio," she requested softly, her own excitement making her accent thick and sweet like honey.

His fingers worked the buttons quickly and his breeches fell to the ground, puddling around his ankles as he stepped out of the anxiously. His noble erection sprang enthusiastically from its bed of dark curls, his stones taut and heavy with his rising lust. And yet Charlotte's hands did all they could to avoid it, retreating to his back once again to admire his robust backside and thighs. She felt him quiver as she ran the cloth around each cheek then squeezed it so that its hot water ran in a torrent down the crack between. She placed sucking kisses against each of the sweet little dimples at the sloping arch where his lower back met his bottom. His breath was now coming in controlled pants as the cloth made its way down the backs of his strong thighs, delighting in their athletic, slim contours. She paid his legs the same tribute as his arms, moving from his ankles up his sturdy well shaped calves. She lingered at his knees, kissing the backs lovingly. Unconsciously his legs drifted open as she went upwards, the coarse hairs on his legs thrilling her caress. She stood again, her arms once again shifting to the front of his torso. His eyelids fluttered down over the deep pools of his eyes, warm with yearning, as she gently washed his hips and lower belly. With a large lecherous grin he took her wrist in his fist firmly and moved her touch to his now throbbing cockstand. "Horatio!" Charlotte scolded, but he could hear the twinkle of amusement in her voice. She moved her hand away only to be guiding back there by his strong grip. "You're being very wicked!" she informed him, even as she nuzzled his shoulder and ran her fingers through the dense brush of curls at his groin. "You've got my chemise all wet," she mumbled against his burning skin.

He turned her to him and saw indeed the thin white nightdress was molded to her with dampness, rendering the flimsy material nearly invisible to his hungry gaze. The dark shadows of her large round nipples were now more than merely hints; he ran his thumb across one and took pleasure in how quickly it reacted, tightening into a hard plump morsel at his first stroke. He drew her into his arms and, pressing his full lips to hers, ravished her mouth, tasting her warmth, tickling the receptive skin of the roof of her mouth and playing with her tongue. "I love you, Charley," he whispered against her ear, placing wet kisses against her jaw.

"I know, Horatio," she said plainly. Then she smiled, reaching her hands around and undoing his queue, spreading his beautiful soft brown curls across the tanned skin of his shoulders. "Bend over the basin," she instructed, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger. "Down," she insisted, giving him a playful smack on the bottom. He did as he was told and instantly had to bite back a moan as she scooped up water from the basin with a pitcher and emptied it over his head. She then proceeded to massage soap into his saturated curls, caressing his tingling scalp as she worked her fingers into his hair. He felt all of his muscles relax at once and clutched the edge of the table in fear of pitching forward into the basin as his knees once again grew weak. "Are you enjoying this?" she asked.

Was he enjoying this? At the moment he could think of few things more pleasurable than the sweet attention she was paying him. "Mmmmmmm, very much so," he answered with a lazy smile. "Are you?"

"I certainly have a splendid view," she giggled, placing her hand on his backside and pinching delicately.

"Now who's being wicked?" he laughed and was rewarded with a fresh rush of warm water as she rinsed the soap out. His senses thrilled at the feeling of the heated liquid running down his shoulders and down his back and his buttocks. He threw his head back, making Charlotte squeal as he shook his head out like a dog, drenching her now entirely.

She threw a towel at him, trying to contain an sweet smile behind a mock scowl as his face split into a large raunchy grin. "You *are* amused with yourself," she laughed at last, watching him dry himself off. She squealed as he grabbed her around the waist and, taking hold of the hem, yanked her soaked shift up her body and over her head until she stood completely naked before him as he did she. She seemed briefly embarrassed by the buxom curves the pregnancy had given her body as Horatio took in the sight of her in. "I'm larger since you saw me last," she said quietly, folding her arms across her rounded belly self-consciously.

Horatio just grinned and, pulling her arms away from her body, wrapped his long arms around her waist and lifted her so her pointed toes just barely swept against the wooden floor as her legs dangled beneath her. He kissed her deeply, inhaling the scent of her hair as he whispered huskily into her ear, "You're perfect, every inch of you. Now to bed, my darling."


	5. Chapter 5

Horatio just grinned and, pulling her arms away from her body, wrapped his long arms around her waist and lifted her so her pointed toes just barely swept against the wooden floor as her legs dangled beneath her. He kissed her deeply, inhaling the scent of her hair as he whispered huskily into her ear, "You're perfect, every inch of you. Now to bed, my darling."

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down, arranging the pillows behind her head and the sheets around her body worshipfully. He himself shuffled onto the bed on his hands and knees and closed them in within the protective world of the mosquito net. Good Gawd she was beautiful, he thought looking down upon her; her rich coffee colored skin, the swell of her hips, the exquisitely large globes of her breasts with their inviting brown peaks. He laid himself on top of her, his erection pressing firmly into her thigh, as he kissed her passionately. She took delight in sucking upon his full sensuous bottom lip with each of his slow wet kisses, gasping into his mouth as his large hand cupped her breast, working the buds of her nipples into a firm blossom with his thumb and forefinger. He kissed down the column of her neck, letting his tongue skirt her skin, relishing the flavor of her. The touch of his lips against her bared flesh sent shivers throughout her quivering body. Lightning shot through her where his fingers caressed her breast; she found her body was so tender and receptive to stimulation since Abigail's birth. She moaned his name, wetness coming from her core in a molten rush, drenching the insides of her thighs.

Horatio smiled, kissing her lips, when he noticed something. A small pearly white drop of liquid had formed at the tip of her full chocolate colored nipple. He bowed his head and curiously, almost hesitantly at first, his thick pink tongue darted out and lapped at it. She gasped and arched her back as he looked to her, his large brown eyes filled with wonder, licking his lips and pressing his thick tongue to the roof of his mouth as to savor the taste.

She was panting heavily, each breath on the edge of an ecstatic cry as he dipped his head again and this time suctioned his lips around the nipple and suckled her; slowly at first and then with growing hunger. His lips smacked against her flesh noisily with each ravenous contraction of his lips around the nub as he sucked her milk into his mouth and gulped it down. He buried his face in the soft mound of her breast; sucking her ever more greedily, thrilling as he felt the hot mammary nectar shoot down his throat as he suckled voraciously on her teat. When he'd supped one dry he moved to her other, squeezing it gently between his fingers as he coerced those enticing ivory droplets from it, admiring the color in contrast to her smooth mocha skin before closing his lips around it tightly and continuing his feast. He was utterly captivated by this new aspect of their love making. Charlotte regarded him from behind her thick lashes, her eyes smoldering with lust as she watched his luscious mouth tighten rhythmically around the peak of her breast, pulling and tugging at the scrumptious morsel in his passion until it was a tense little knot; the merest touch of his lips when enough to send pins and needles of pleasure throughout her, the constant suckling of Abigail upon her breast had heightened the swollen nubs to their utmost sensitivity. She tangled her fingers in his still damp hair and cradled him to her as the delicious pull in her womb grew and warmth spread languorously to her limbs.

"Horatio," Charlotte moaned, giving the wet curls still entwined in her fingers a small tug, "you'll sap me entirely. I need some for Abigail," she told him with a smile. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips away from her nipple and covered her mouth with his again, this time more urgently. His erection, now harder and more demanding than before, pressed assertively into her inner thigh just outside the lips of her vagina and she spread herself for him, shifting her hips to except him. But he made no attempt to move inside of her; not just yet.

"I've had my pleasure once today already, love," he murmured huskily into her ear, "and I'll have it again soon but now I want to share in yours." He ravished her body with kisses, down her neck and breasts, lingering against her stomach, teasing her navel with delightful flicks of his tongue. He moved his mouth to her thighs and was rewarded with a strangled sigh as he worked the hot wet moistness of his lips against her soft flesh. It seemed like an eternity he tasted her there, sometimes allowing his steamy breath to brush against her eager slit but always pulling away before his mouth met her burning cleft.

Wordless pleas fell from Charlotte's lips, begging him to end his pleasurable torture and finally he complied, running the tip of his tongue against the pouting lips of her sex and sampling the juices that surged from her. Nuzzling his nose and lips against his wife's alluring cunny, he pushed his fat tongue inside, running its ample thickness and length through the creamy folds; he filled her so completely as he lapped at her sensitive private skin and swallowed down her juices. He gave her clitoris a quick lick which sent an obvious thrill through her trembling body and a cry from her lips. He continued his mischievous exploration of her chalice of femininity, occasionally returning to her firm kernel, now engorged with blood from her excitement, for a rapid flick of his tongue. Finally he settled on the fleshy pearl, drawing it between his lips and suckling. If woman was a peach then surely his wife was the ripest and juiciest of all, and devouring her was a pleasure that was only his. She nearly purred her satisfaction as she moved her hips against his mouth, her wild cries of ecstasy inflaming him further and causing his oral attentions to become frantic until she cried out one last time and her hot spend filled his mouth, dripping down his mouth and chin.

He laid his head upon her bosom as she recovered herself, listening to her swift heartbeat and quickened breath, delighting in the power he had to be able to do this to her. He smiled as he felt the soft touch of her fingertips upon the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck. "It's been a long time," she said quietly, stretching languorously. "Don't tell me I've exhausted my husband already!"

His grin widened. "Nay, my sweet lady," he said throatily, moving to her lips once more. He moved his body so the tip of his now steel-hard erection brushed against the damp coarse bush at the apex of her thighs which concealed her most eager and sensitive treasure; a prize Horatio was much looking forward to claiming with his cock for the first time in his marriage bed. "I am eager as ever if not more so for the pleasure you have experienced which I have given you has much inflamed me." His long slender fingers explored her sweat-glistened flesh, cupping her milk-swollen breasts, skirting the slightly rounded plain of her stomach as he continued to drink of her mouth, his full lips supping at hers.

"Mmmmmmmmm," she murmured. "I love your lips, I love your kisses." She wrapped her legs around his narrow waist in an invitation, moving her hips so that the glowing head of his ample maleness stood poised at the warm wet opening into her very heart and soul. Unable to hold himself back any longer he plunged into her, burying himself to the very roots of his affair all at once. She cried out, feeling the engorged head of his penis tease at the entrance of her womb, arching against him, heaving her bottom off of the bed frantically as she thrust herself against him. He took hold of her and stilled her movements, slowly and deliberately sliding his throbbing flesh in and out of her. The sweet friction of her tight, slick walls clasping around his raging cock as he rode her had him standing at the precipice to bliss almost at once. Gradually, his slow penetrations became more and more frenzied until he was ramming himself into her, keeping his even tempo but now with a need for fulfillment like none he'd ever felt before.

She was panting and crying out wildly, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. Their embrace at the moment of their mutual crisis was such that not even twenty, nay, a hundred of the strongest sailors in His Britannic Majesty's Navy could have torn them apart. Their lips, their arms, their sex were all entwined so passionately as he pumped his hot essence into her belly, feeling it cascade down their entangled thighs, that neither could tell where the other ended and they began. They were together one sensual, sexual being; husband and wife, man and woman.

Horatio rolled on his back, panting and sweating as if he'd just run all the way from Portsmouth. Charlotte curled around him like a vine, neither of them attempting to scuttle beneath the bedcovers; the cool night breeze whipping off the sea a welcome relief against their over-heated, sweat-shimmering bodies. He cradled her to him with one strong arm, relishing in the feel of her soft, supple body snuggled into his; fancying that for just a moment their hearts beat in perfect time with the other's. Her fingertips lightly skirted the dampened skin of his chest, tracing the strong outlines of his well-defined muscles as she put her lips to his tightly erect brownish-plumb colored nipple, suckling strongly on the distended nub in a playful imitation of his own delights upon hers earlier. He grinned, pulling her closer so he could inhale the sweet scent of her hair and the fragrance of sex radiating from her. Her fingers caressing his lower abdomen, stroking the silken skin hidden beneath the coarse curls that began at a trickle beneath his navel and continued downwards to the alluring mat of his pubic bush, caused him to rise to the occasion anew. He rolled onto her once again and plunged into the waiting wanting warmth of her femininity, working his tool inside of her until they both spent passionately once again.

Once more they settled into the almost innocent embrace of husband and wife, curling against each other as if their bodies were puzzle pieces, made to fit together. They spoke for some time, whisperings of love as well as things they'd seen and experienced since they had parted. It was well after midnight that they drifted into a contented sleep, the moon gently casting its pale glow against the bed and their sated bodies, its unearthly glow created another world made for only the two of them.


	6. Chapter 6

The dark shadow moved stealthily and noiselessly across the master bedroom, shifting like ink and liquid mercury as it moved ever closer to the bed and avoided the magical shimmer of the moon's rays. A moment ago, Charlotte had glimpsed the unnatural shape of a woman standing in the darkness watching, but now she was gone and this thing was getting nearer and nearer to where she lay. The woman had not frightened her, it had almost felt comforting like the familiar and no longer heard fussy rustling of Mrs. Bennett's skirts, but this new thing did. It seemed propelled by sheer malice, glaring at her lecherously in anticipation as it approached though it had no discernible eyes. Much to her distress, she found she could not move; it was if every muscle in her body were not hers to control any longer. She could not even open her mouth to scream as the thing, the hideous stain upon the thick night air was upon her, seeping through the mosquito netting like a vulgar cloud, its talon-like grip holding her down as its weight pressed her into the feather mattress. She tried to call for help. For her Horatio and even though he lay slumbering next to her, his chest rising and falling in a steady peaceful rhythm he seemed a million miles away...a thrashing ocean seemingly lay between them.

She began to cry silent tears, trying to beg for mercy, to rouse Horatio, as she felt its slimy grasp upon her breasts, pinching her nipples cruelly, it filthy, oily tongue licking at the hardened nubs. She began to sob as it forced her thighs apart, feeling its claw-like fingers part the tender folds of her vagina, nipping into the sensitive flesh roughly; its hollow cooing and caressing mocking her. Then she caught sight of it...oh dear God, NO! Its elongated phallus slithered in its shadowy blackness like a snake, searching against her belly and pubic mound to find the place hidden within the delicate flesh hood of her sex to pierce. She cringed and began to retch as it went as erect as a blade and she felt it inside of her, its crown as sharp and large as the head of a spear. She tried to scream, tried to fight it, but the thing only held her ever more tightly as it renewed its assault again and again; its barbed shaft becoming harder and more excited with her struggling, searing and slashing at her fragile inner most parts.

"You'll call me MASTER, bitch," a hollow male voice sneered at her, joined by another, just as heartless as the first and instantly recognizable, telling her, "Think yer too good fer us, eh, you little colored chit?! We'll show you yer place!"

Finally, she felt a soft, gentle hand upon her shoulder and looked up into a caring young face with sparkling blue sapphires for eyes and flaxen hair: Lieutenant Kennedy. The innocent, purifying cry of a babe could be heard in the background becoming louder as it cut through the darkness and gloom like a brand of purest light. "Wake up," Archie said quietly. 'Wake up,' the baby's wailing seemed to urge her.

And she did, giving a soft but desperate cry as she bolted upright. Alarmed, Horatio enfolded her in his strong embrace immediately, having been woken out of his deep sleep by her dream-induced thrashings. He tried to soothe her with kisses and affectionate words even as she struggled against him, fighting against some unseen foe. "Charley," he murmured into her hair, trying to remain composed though her fit frightened him greatly. "Charley, sweet, I'm here. I'm here, love, please calm down...Charley, what's wrong, my sweet? I'm here, my love, I'm here. Please calm down." He ran his fingers through her hair, watching as the satiny ebony strands slipped through his slender digits. As the last of the silken tresses flowed through his fingers, he flattened his palm and stroked his hand down the curve of her spine until her sobs subsided and she stilled in his arms.

Oh God, a dream. Raynier; she'd had the nightmares before though never this vivid. It seems while the scars on the outside of her body from his torturous attentions continued to heal, the ones on the inside remained as fresh as the day he caused them. He had wanted her and she had rejected him. He had set about to make her life a living hell, forcing himself upon her and getting off in as many different and painful ways as he could think of with her. She was glad he was dead! Glad he had been murdered, his throat cut, that night so long ago when she had taken Horatio to the cove under the full moon when she had wished him dead with her own blood. No, best not to think of that! 'Bastard,' she swore to herself, 'never yours. Never!' There had been another voice, equal in its blind hatred and raw depraved hunger. The Old Master? No, they were dead; they were all dead! She burrowed into Horatio chest, grateful for his strength, his warmth, his love, for him.

She accepted all the comfort he was lovingly offering her even as he felt helpless and frustrated in the face of her sudden affliction. It reminded him of Archie, his fits; and that terrified him beyond words. What demons had visited his best friend when he had closed his eyes and what now haunted his beloved wife when she lay to rest beside him? He wanted to protect her, to help her but how could he when she wouldn't even tell him what had frightened her so?

Vaguely, they both became aware of little Abigail crying in her nursery. Charlotte collected herself enough to disentangle herself from her husband's embrace and throw on her discarded night shift, padding silently out of the bedchamber and into the room adjacent, the nursery. Horatio followed determinedly, pulling on the nearest article of clothing he could find: his breeches. Shadows seemed to retreat and flee at Charlotte's approach like smoke, and once Abigail caught sight of her mama, her crying suddenly and inexplicably ceased. She gurgled and babbled happily as she reached out towards her and Charlotte lifted the baby into her arms. "See," Charlotte said gently, "all better now. Are you hungry, little one? Did you get a fright like your mama?" She felt Horatio at her back, his long strong arms encircling her waist as she leaned into him.

"Tell me what troubled you, my love?" he asked softly, brushing the long silken locks of her hair away and, bending for he was more than a full head taller than she, kissed the nape of her neck as he gazed down upon Abigail who gave no sign of only moments ago bawling as if the world was coming to an end.

"It was nothing; a dream, that's all. I'm fine now," she tried to reassure him, though he could feel her body was still all a-tremble in his arms. He held her tighter, even more frustrated that she would not confide in him. Her evasiveness was disconcerting, maddening, as self-doubt washed over him. Didn't she trust him? Did she think it would burden him too greatly? Did she not understand his desire to cherish her, to love her as completely as man should his wife?

He didn't let her out of his sight; he hovered over her like a guardian angel (or a loving, concerned husband; which is what, in fact, he was) as she took a seat in the rocking chair and opened her shift to feed Abigail. She couldn't help but giggle as the babe reached out and tickled her sensitive breast with her chubby little fingers and the sound did Horatio's heart good. Horatio grinned and kissed his wife's cheek tenderly as he reached out to tickle Abigail's chin. His sweet little daughter grabbed his finger and chuckled happily, a charming sound she had made before and one that Horatio had a feeling he would grow to adore, and the shadows were banished entirely, leaving only the soft pale glow of moonlight in their wake. Abigail suckled Charlotte for a short time and, as if satisfied that everyone was now safe and sound, drifted off into serene slumber with a wide yawn. With a quick change of her nappy, Charlotte set the tiny thing back in her crib where she continued to dream.

With Horatio's arms around Charlotte's shoulders protectively, they returned to their bed, shedding the nuisance of their clothing before climbing under the covers together. Horatio wondered how to approach the subject, or if he should try to at all. His fears, his self-doubt, came back to him as they lay there unspeaking. Charlotte's own words to Bush on the wharf as Ardent had docked came back to haunt him. Perhaps so much time alone running the Chase had made her *too* independent; what if she didn't need him anymore to comfort and support her? What if she didn't need him the way he needed her? His husbandly pride was sorely wounded to be sure and he was just about to insist she tell him what was bothering her when her voice sounded, small and pleading as she nestled into him: "Oh Horatio," she murmured into his chest, "you know you are my rock...my anchor. Hold me, please." He did, pulling her firmly against him and stroking her body intimately as his heart throbbed at her confession; easing her tense muscles her with his big strong hands.

"I love you, Charley," he told her in no uncertain terms and his voice turned to a low moan as she gently began to nuzzle and lick at the delicious hardened nub of his nipple. She ran her tongue around its circumference before taking the morsel between her lips and sucking greedily.

"I love you too, my captain," she said playfully, as her hand skirted down the flat muscular plane of his chest and stomach, marveling at how such a slender lovely frame could hold so much tight sinew and power. She grasped his eager already stiffening cock and stroked worshipfully, delighting at the feel of the veined column of velvety steel beneath her fingertips. A generous grin spread across his face as his hips moved against her hand and animalistic growls came from deep within his throat. He tangled his fingers in her mass of hair, pulling her head back so he could claim her mouth in a kiss. He licked her lips, savoring their taste and feel, before thrusting his fat tongue between them; all of his previous anxieties were forgotten. Gawd, how could he be so stupid as to believe she didn't need him, desire him, love him the way he did her?! What a fool he could be sometimes!

She removed her hand from his burgeoning prick and moved it around his lean hip to his backside, grasping the firm half-globe of his buttocks tightly. He smiled mischievously against her lips as he continued to thrill her with kisses. His large hands cupped her breasts and kneaded them like a kitten's paws on a blanket. One hand remained while the other moved onto explore further down her body. Long sensual fingers brushed along her skin and her thighs parted instinctively for him as his fingertips found the swollen lips of her womanhood and pushed inside. Good Lord, she was drenched in her lust for him! His fingers moved easily in her silky nectar, applying delicious pressure to her clitoris as he rubbed the taut nubbin in a circular motion with the ball of his thumb. He felt Charlotte grin against his lips as she moaned her pleasure into his mouth. She was so lusciously hot and wet, her skin so pleasingly soft that his cock leapt at the thought of burrowing its ample length inside of her.

Savagely rapturous sensations swirled around Charlotte at his intimate touch as the world lurched delightfully; bliss, ache for fulfillment. His loving attentions would wash away the bitter aftertaste of her nightmare, she was sure. He would make everything better, he always did. She gazed at him adoringly as his tongue ravaged her mouth in breathless kiss after breathless kiss, wondering how in Heaven or on Earth she had been so lucky as to win his heart; so guarded to everyone save for herself.

His fingers dipped lower, burying themselves in her tight sheath two at a time, her slick warmth closing around him delightfully. She gasped and whimpered suddenly, pushing him away. His dark brow furrowed as tears began to fall from her eyes and he looked down at his newly freed hand; his fingers were coated in a thin layer of sticky crimson. Blood. "Charley..." he began, terrified.

She tired to turn her face away from him, ashamed as if she had done something, but he wouldn't let her. "It's sore where it touched me, where it hurt me," she wept. "Oh Gawd, Horatio, in my dream...It was Raynier and Arnauds and the Old Master, Mrs. Bennett's father, all of them together or something else. I tried to wake you but I...I couldn't! It was a shadow, a stain, and it...it...it violated me, Horatio. I could feel it inside of me, dirty and vile and offensive! But it was only a dream, wasn't it?"

All Horatio could do was hold her, promising her everything was going to be alright though he had no way of being certain it would be. Protect her...comfort her? He was more lost with more of a feeling of powerlessness, almost impotency, than before when she had refused to confide in him. Ghosts. Could he be convinced of it? Disbelief was his first instinct but something had hurt her, and he was certain she had not been bleeding when they had fallen asleep. And this island...this haunted isle; there was something here, there was no denying that. Now that he came to think about it, his sleep had been uneasy; pleasant but oppressive. Had something been trying to keep him away from her? And if so, how could he fight an unseen foe; how could he protect the woman he loved more than life? A flesh and blood man he could deal with, but how in Gawd's name could one protect one's wife from a nightmare? "I love you," he whispered, hoping that would somehow make everything better. He knew it could not but was happy when Charlotte snuggled into him closer and repeated the pledge of affection back to him, all her heart behind the words. He lay back, awake, holding Charlotte like a child in his strong embrace, waiting for dawn to begin to show her first rosy blush and expel the shadows.


	7. Chapter 7

Horatio awoke to the pleasing sensation of Charlotte's fingers gently stroking the smooth yet sinewy surface of his chest. He smiled and stretched, not exactly sure when he'd fallen asleep but glad to feel the tenderness of his wife's touch and, upon opening his eyes, the tranquil look of repose on her face and in her eyes. He tightened his arm around her waist and smiled, clasping her wrist in his hand and stilling its soothing motions, holding it flat against his heart while admiring the warm contrast between their skin tones; creamy cocoa against sailor's rugged tan.

"Did you watch over me the entire time?" she asked softly.

"I tried," he admitted with a rueful grin and she raised herself slightly to kiss him.

"We've probably missed breakfast," she told him with a wistful sigh, "and our little Abbie will be wanting hers."

The strong sunlight filtering in lazily along with the late morn breeze made her brave, chasing away the shadows from even the darkest hidden corners of the estate. If the light made her brave, then Horatio's adoring stare, his loving caress, made her feel as if she could take on the entire Spanish fleet! She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze as she shifted to the side of the bed, parting the mosquito netting with her outstretched foot as she perched on the edge and once again pulling on her camisole. She was only to eager to push away thoughts of her nightmare last night, dismiss them as nothing but the disturbed images of an uneasy mind. Perhaps all this was getting to her after all; the English islanders' attitude, Dr. Hornblower's comments. She could only be so strong, so stoic. But Horatio was here now, she needn't be alone or lonely anymore.

"You will talk to Old Mother today," Horatio's voice sounded quietly behind her.

"What for?" she asked innocently.

"For this, Charley," he said sternly, grasping her arm gently to force her to turn to him and throwing back the covers to reveal a small scarlet stain on the sheet. Her face fell and she paled at the confrontation of the reality of her nightmare. There it was, in plain daylight; the place where she had bled after the obscene, vulgar attack. Abruptly he sat up and moved towards her and, taking her sullen face in his hands, kissed her quickly, apologetically, realizing he had managed to trample what little peace she had managed to find since last night. "I don't want to hurt you, Charlotte. I just want to make sure you are not hurt again. I love you so much."

She nodded. She could have kept pretending that nothing was amiss, that she didn't want to cringe in terror whenever she thought on it, and basking in the warmth and protection of Horatio's love would make it so easy to do so. But she saw the concern written on his features, in his eyes, on his dark furrowed brow, and realized her own stomach had twisted into a knot of fear at the thought of nighttime.

"I will," she promised, placing her hand over his where it lay on her arm. "I will talk to Old Mother." She smiled, hesitantly at first and then with genuine brightness. She leaned forward, raising herself slightly as she kissed the frown from his forehead, running her fingertips against his cheek affectionately. "I am glad you are home, Horatio."

'Home', he thought with a broad smile, lying backwards against the pillows, his arm behind his head. Yes, he supposed he was. How odd and yet how wonderfully right, to belong somewhere, with and to someone. It was Abigail's playful cooing heard coming from the nursery that finally moved him to get up. He dressed quickly, pulling on a shirt and trousers and collecting his chestnut curls into a hastily tied grosgrain ribbon. He skipped shaving but splashed some water from the bathing basin onto his face to refresh himself. 'Maybe I could convince Charlotte to shave me', he contemplated with a wicked grin, rubbing his jaw. 'If she shaved a man half as good as she bathed him...'

Strolling into the nursery, he found Charlotte on her feet gazing out the open verandah door, cradling Abigail to her bared breast as the baby fed. She turned to him as he entered and smiled demurely; surely it was not his imagination that nursing their daughter had a calming effect on his wife. "How is she this morning?" he asked, almost tripping over the lump of pride he felt in his throat every time he gazed upon his women, his family.

"Hungry," Charlotte answered with a laugh, taking a seat in her rocking chair. "She's got a grip on me this morning! I guess she had a rough night too," she smiled, a brave little quirk to her lips that begged Horatio to cross the room to her, take her chin in his hand as he tipped her face upwards and bent over to do just that. Her tongue darted out to lick his flavor from her lips when their mouths at last parted, and Horatio couldn't help but once again press his to hers and pull that sweet little bit of velvet between his lips and suck on it with relish. Abigail twisted in Charlotte's arms and reached out to her papa with a small blithe but imploring sound. He smiled, tickling her tummy with one long, lean finger which she promptly grabbed with her chubby little fists and held on firmly. Once again contented, she returned to Charlotte's breast and continued to nurse while holding onto her daddy tightly, connecting the three of them as one. "I think she is papa's little girl," Charlotte observed with a chuckle.

"She's our girl," he responded gently, "and a little beauty at that." They fell into silence for a moment, listening to the calming sounds of the sea beyond the cane fields; the gulls crying out, the sea lapping at the shore in endless measure. A warm breeze tickled their flesh as the palms swayed lazily in the morning heat. It was all so mesmerizing, so tranquil. As wrong, as evil, as that...thing had felt last night, Charlotte was overcome by the breathtaking sense of rightness to this, being there like that, with Horatio and Abigail. Her skin tingled with awareness of Abbie's strong suckling, the heat and comfort of Horatio's touch. Her other nipple, already puckered in anticipation of its need grew tighter at the memory of Horatio's hungered regard to it last night. She gasped as she felt a trickle fall from it, tickling her sensitive flesh as it ran down the heavy swell of her breast.

Horatio looked to her in concern, fearing that something was amiss, when he noticed the ever growing circle of wetness upon her shift where it covered her unoccupied breast. She giggled and tried to cover it from his view, coloring slightly. "Do not be concerned, Horatio," she said giddy and embarrassed at the same time. "Auntie Maria told me it was perfectly natural, for some of it to...escape like this. It's happened before... No, don't!" she protested with another giggle as Horatio knelt before her and, batting her protective hand away mischievously, stripped the dampened cotton from her.

Her flighty laughter turned into a throaty moan as his tongue reached out to her exposed flesh and lapped up the already fallen rivulets of milk from the grand sphere of her breast like a cat at its cream, making his way upwards towards the nipple. He licked the droplets from the taut nub with playful flicks of his tongue before taking it into his mouth and suckling voraciously. Her delicious, hot liquid filled his mouth and cascaded down his throat as he swallowed and, truly, he decided that mother's milk was the sweetest most delectable of drinks he had ever sampled, surpassing even that of warmed milk and honey that his mother used to prepare for him when he could not fall asleep. Never was there a nectar as delicious as that which God had ordained be placed within woman's breast, and he consumed it with relish. To know that this nectar was of Charlotte, of her body, and that he was sharing in it with their daughter, who still held his hand fastly, gave him the greatest of joys. His groin grew rigid, his cock stretching within the confines of his trousers, as his excitement began to escalate, feeling her fingers in his hair, hearing her small stifled pants and moans of pleasure.

Charlotte gazed down upon her two loves, watching as both supped from her all she had to offer greedily. Not even in her most secret of fantasies had she imagined such a luscious, blissful union of family as this; nurturing her daughter on one breast and satiating her husband's lustful thirst with the other, holding both of them lovingly in her arms even as they remained linked by hand. Sticky heated wetness began to pool within her and she was grateful to feel the absence of soreness from the attack the night before, only longing and that delightful tingling that Horatio always seemed to inspire in her.

His eyes, dark swirling oceans of desire and devotion, sought her own and found them gazing down at him half-lidded and adoringly, a euphoric countenance written across her beautiful features as she chewed on the corner of her bottom lip. Her hand gently stroked his feather soft-curls keeping him firmly cradled to her breast, the sound of his suckling audible in the stillness of the room like the soft wet smackings of his kisses. He groaned deeply into her tender skin and was rewarded with the visible thrill that ran through her body in a delighted shudder, her fist clenching in his chestnut locks. Imitating her mama, Abigail gleefully clenched a handful of Horatio's hair in her plump little fingers.

He ravished Charlotte until he had milked her fully, sucking her playfully afterwards before detaching his full lips from her nipple, giving it a quick affectionate lick with his thick pink tongue, a mischievous twinkle in his large chocolate eyes, and placing his scrumptious mouth against hers in a passionate kiss. He cupped her jaw with his palm, stroking her flushed cheek gently with his thumb as he kissed the tip of her nose. She smiled at him impishly, curling a wispy lock of his hair around her finger.

Abigail sighed happily and smiled at the two of them, chuckling, her sweet pudgy cheeks dimpling as she finally released her grip on Horatio. Was it just his imagination or was there something unusually keen behind his baby's childishly innocent gaze? Some penetrating perceptiveness that saw beyond just the mundane shapes and colors of ordinary life to those unsettling shadows that one tended to catch out of the corner of one's eye at the edges of this mysterious isle, only to flee when one turned to get a better look. Didn't she always look most cheerful when Horatio and Charlotte were together, when they were expressing their love for each other? And wasn't it her crying that had woken him from his restless dreaming last night only to find Charlotte in fits? But no, that couldn't be; it had been his wife's thrashing about that had roused him and they had only noticed her crying after Charlotte had calmed, or did they...? There was something, half remembered from his dream; crying, a voice telling him to wake. It all seemed very odd. And the way she had stopped her bawling the moment she had seen nothing was seriously amiss with Charlotte...Horatio felt a chill run down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; Abigail just chuckled at him, her little eyes shimmering with their curious light.

"Good morning, Charley," Hill's light-hearted voice rang out in the bedchamber, the sound of the door closing following her remark. She started when she saw Horatio emerge from the nursery, almost dropping the towels she held in her arms and turning away abashedly. "Begging yer pardon, Captain Hornblower, sir," the woman said, flustered. Horatio noticed that she was nervously averting her gaze, avoiding glancing at either his person or the bed. He smiled; the poor dear thing must think she had walked in on them. "I'm so used to getting Charley, I mean Mrs. Charlotte, up at this time that I'd forgotten you'd come home and just went about with my silly habit and now I've interrupted..."

"Hill," he said kindly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her to him slowly. She relaxed considerably when she saw he was in mostly full dress. "You did not interrupt anything," he assured her. "Charlotte is in the nursery and I am sure she will be grateful of your help. I'll be heading down to break fast..."

"The Lilywhites'll be waiting fer ya, sir," Hill informed him as if that was supposed to mean something to him. Noticing his slightly furrowed brow, the woman suddenly realized he wouldn't have had the chance at introductions yet. "Begging yer pardon, sir," she said quickly. "I forgot myself again. Mr. and Mrs. Lilywhite, sir; Charley, I mean Mrs. Charlotte hired them to help her keep The Chase. Mr. Lilywhite, sir, runs the grounds and helps Mrs. Charlotte with the business affairs and Mrs. Lilywhite looks after the house. Best get down to meet them soon, sir; I fear something's wrong. Mrs. Lilywhite is an a horrible state!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Upon entering the breakfast room, Horatio found two unfamiliar figures conversing with his father. The first was a tall burly man no older or younger than Lieutenant Bush, a shock of dark blonde hair adorning his head; undoubtedly refined though there was something nearly feral behind his ice blue eyes. The other, a matronly looking though not unattractive woman of around the same age with a cascade of honey golden hair and gentle green eyes. There was something warmer about her, more kindly than her husband; she was softer around the edges. She stood as Horatio approached, smiling as she fussed with her skirts and curtsied to him.

"Captain Hornblower," she said graciously though her general demeanor was grave," it is a pleasure, sir, after hearing so much about you to finally meet you myself."

"As you, Mrs. Lilywhite," Horatio returned, taking her hand and bowing courteously.

"Please, call us James and Marjorie, Captain, sir," Mr. Lilywhite chimed in, smoothing his hair down before excepting Horatio's hand for a vigorous shake.

Horatio nodded and then regarded his father, "Sir. Morning finds you well?"

"Quite," Samuel replied with a small, tense smile. Well, his son was speaking to him; that was something at least. After his behavior last night, he would not have blamed the young man in the least if he wanted nothing more to do with him. The comment he had made at dinner last night had been...regretted upon further reflection on the matter. "Well," he said suddenly, deciding not to press his luck further as he patted his slender stomach, "I believe I could do with a walk after such a filling meal. If you'll excuse me..." Pleasantries were exchanged and Dr. Hornblower withdrew from the parlor.

"I've no doubt that Hill has already hinted to you, sir, that something is amiss," Marjorie began as the older gentleman was out of earshot; her fair brow furrowing as she clamped her hands together worriedly. Horatio confirmed her suspicion with a small tip of his head and motioned for her to continue. He presumed this would be some trivial business matter, handled easily and quickly, hardly deserving of the intense consideration it was being given. He couldn't have been more wrong. "It's one of the kitchen girls, Beatrice, sir; she's been missing for quite some time now."

Horatio gave a start, shocked and alarmed by the news. "How long?" he asked.

"Since last night," James answered rather dismissively. "She did not show up for her duties this morning and her bed was unslept in. If you ask me, the chit probably just went off to town to call on a beau and forgot herself. It wouldn't be the first time," he shrugged.

"Without telling anyone where she was going?" snapped Marjorie, fighting hard to keep her temper to a minimum. Horatio got the feeling this was an old argument between the two of them. She turned back to Horatio, "I have not known Beatrice to be irresponsible in the time I have been at Myrtle. Her friends are worried for her, sir, and so, if I may say, am I." She looked as if she were about to say something else for a moment but, glancing sideways at her husband, decided to keep her mouth shut. She turned her gaze towards Horatio imploringly.

Horatio didn't like this. He was already uneasy and distrustful with the idea of this man helping Charlotte with the Chase's business. She was completely reliant on the Lilywhites, in particular James as he helped her with the business end and she had no experience in running a plantation. There was something indefinable about him that set Horatio on edge, made him wary. Perhaps he was being unfair; 'Overprotective of Charlotte once again,' he thought to himself with a small smile. But how could he help himself when his only desire was to take care of her, to love her? He shook his negative feelings off, dismissing them though the apprehension remained. "With little more than suspicion to go on, we cannot call the constabulary in just yet. Find her friends among the servants, the ones who would know where she would be likely to go; have them search for her," he said firmly, fixing his hard stare on James to see if the man would object. He seemed to consider it but the reslove in Horatio's eyes silenced any argument.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Marjorie sighed, relieved. "I'll see that it is done straightaway. And Captain Hornblower...welcome home."


	8. Chapter 8

"A troubled mind and a heavy heart," Old Mother said, staring down at the playing cards spread out across the rough hewn wood floor of the kitchen house in front of her. She whistled low and deep between her two front teeth and, with a wave of her arm, swept the cards away from her. "Bah!" she snorted. "You tell me nutting!" Looking up, she was not surprised to find Charlotte standing next to her gazing at her with a mixture of fear and reverence. She had shed her ladies' dress for the simple practicality of a white cotton blouse and a heavily patterned skirt. Her sable hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few wild strands defiantly falling about her neck and shoulders. "Something has happened; I felt the magic thick as smoke in the air last night."

"Something...attacked me last night," Charlotte told her uneasily, cautious to confess even to her oldest friend the nightmare she had lived last night. "It moved like shadows. It...I..." She steadied herself, bracing her arms against a nearby table as her body threatened to swoon at the mere memory of its violent assault. Old Mother sprang to her feet with a youthful vigor barely glimpsed in her anymore to catch the girl and lead her to a chair, helping her to sit. Charlotte didn't even realize she was crying until she put her hand to her cheek. "It defiled me, again and again," she said through tearfully clenched teeth. "I couldn't stop it. There was so much hate, so much malevolence in it. It hurt, there was blood...inside me." Finally, she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in Old Mother's arms as the crone rocked her back and forth, whispering soft words to her in another tongue. There was no one to be strong for, no one to show a brave face to--just Charley and the woman she had always considered a grandmother. She cried as hard as she ever had, harder than the day her mother had died, until tears would come no more. She sniffled as Old Mother petted her hair, indulging her like a child.

"Come, baby girl," the biddy told her, smoothing her dampening cheek with a callused old hand. "Come now, child; we dance fer ya tonight and Old Mother will make ye some gris-gris to keep the bad spirits away." She placed her hand on Charlotte's belly, rubbing soothingly. "Ya still hurt?" Charlotte shook her head in the negative and Old Mother breathed a sigh of relief. She had felt the force on the wind last night, she had smelled it like thunder over the sea, but she had never dreamed it would come to this. And with Beatrice gone missing... A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Little Abigail, it didn't hurt her?"

Charlotte frowned thoughtfully. "N--no; she seemed to...chase it away. Her crying, in my dream, it's what woke me up."

"She is blessed," Old Mother whispered mysteriously, still cradling the young woman in her arms. She glanced over to where her deck of playing cards lay in a messy pile and sighed. "The cards tell me nutting today. Ye keep close to yar man and yar little one, hear me. Hate is very strong but pure love, it be much stronger!" The ancient woman concealed her fear for Charlotte's benefit; all the time he was holding the girl, her wise old brain was clicking away. A dark cloud seemed to lie over the estate today, a forewarning of a more turbulent storm to come. First the girls that kept going missing, now the evil that had violated her sweet little Charlotte... Holding the girl reminded her of comforting her mother the first time the Old Master had come to her bed and forced himself upon her. The suggestions of the past were all around, lying thickly about the grounds like mist over the cemetery at early morn. The storm was coming.

"Finally, they listen!" Bones thundered triumphantly, his face a mask of grim determination as he stormed into the kitchen house. "We are to form a search party for Beatrice; little good that will do Prue or Addy, but it's a start." He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Charlotte. She tried to wipe away the tears quickly so he would not see but the telltale redness of her eyes gave her away at once. "Charley," he said, concerned, kneeling by her side and taking her hands in his. "Oh, my Charley; you've heard of the disappearances then."

Disappearances? Prudence, Adeline and... Beatrice; could it be? Why hadn't she been told?! She tried to mask the shock written so well on her features; it was easier to play along than to admit the real reason for her sorrow. "Yes," she said, "yes, it upsets me greatly. Oh, Bones, I am so sorry! If there is anything I can do..."

"I will find her," he told her resolutely, taking her face in his hands and kissing her softly upon the forehead as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Tell me what is wrong," William Bush said, glancing at his friend over the rim of his ale flagon. Seemingly jolted out of his own thoughts, Horatio turned his gaze to him and raised a dark quizzical eyebrow. Bush set the tumbler down on the small wooden table of one of the inn's enclosed dining area and sighed. The captain had been distracted all afternoon, showing up out of nowhere to lunch with his first lieutenant, even going so far as to hire them a private room, but had nary said a word the entire time they dined. In truth, Horatio had to escape the Chase. By the time he had returned to their chambers after some small talk with the Lilywhites and a small meal, Charlotte had gone off to seek Old Mother's advice, skipping her breakfast altogether. Horatio had waited and paced, paced and waited until he could stand it no more. Adding to his burdened mind was the fact that he would most likely have to tell his already distraught wife about the missing girl. As morning grew thin and noon was born, he had taken a small carriage into Kingston hoping that Bush's company would help him keep his mind of matters. Now, here he was, skulking, not exactly playing the entertained guest. "Trouble in paradise?" Bush asked.

Horatio felt his temper rise quickly and irrationally and was just about to ask exactly what he meant by that but checked himself before the words left his lips. He let out a loud exhalation, releasing his anger as he rubbed the tension from his forehead. "I'm sorry," he said meekly, "Charlotte had a bad dream last night and neither of us got much sleep. And...a girl has disappeared from the Chase."

Bush drew a sharp breath in and gave him a look of sympathy. "Just the flighty fancy of a young girl or do you feel there is something amiss?"

Horatio waved an uncertain hand. "I am unsure. The grounds keeper believes it is nothing but I am not convinced. There was something said that led me to suspect that this is not the first. His wife seems to agree with me. I...I would feel better if you were there, to keep an eye on things."

"Of course," Bush nodded solemnly. "I can be ready by this evening."

"I'll send a carriage from the Chase to pick you up around suppertime then," Horatio said, keeping his emotions masked though Bush could sense the easing of the man's countenance. He knew this man too well not to feel that there was something greatly ponderous on his mind indeed. Whatever it was he would do all he could to help. They were comrades but, more than that, they were friends. William motioned his approval and Horatio thanked him in his own reserved manner; a small smile to the corner of his lips and a tilt to his head. "I've things to do here before I return," the captain said, standing and collecting his hat and jacket. Bush stood to see him out as Horatio told him, "I shall see you later, Mr. Bush. Good day."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio stood at the doorstep of the quaint two-story dwelling, dubiously staring up at its black-draped windows. It was dark snuggled into its unassuming little neighborhood of houses; grim yet strangely inviting with its brick exterior and brilliant white slatted shutters, giving every hint as to what strange purpose it served and what magic may lie within its walls. This was the address, he was sure of it. He raised his fist and knocked on the crimson-painted door, cautiously at first and then with growing determination. Slowly, the door opened a crack and he could just see exactly half of a face peering out at him. A keen face, worn with age and wisdom but still retaining hints of the soft beauty she must have possessed in her youth. Horatio recognized her instantly from his night at the cove: Maria Alva. "What do you want?" she asked suspiciously. "I do not work after lunch, my customers know that."

He cleared his throat and began sternly, keeping his air of naval authority about him, "Excuse me for disturbing you, ma'am. I am from Myrtle Chase..."

That was all he needed to say. Maria's aged face burst into a wide grin and she opened the door to him fully, inviting him in as if he were an honored guest. "Captain Hornblower," she smiled, clasping her hands to her breast happily. "I apologize for my less than gracious greeting; unfamiliar faces are not always pleasant ones. Join me in some tea, Captain?" Horatio nodded politely and she signaled for him to follow her down a narrow dark wood-paneled hall into the modest parlor towards the back of the house. She threw open those same black-styled drapes he had caught sight of at the front of the residence, letting the warm light filter in through the thick warped glass of the windows. The smell of jasmine and other potent spices were abundant around him, making his head spin most delightfully as he took a seat upon a cushioned settee, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The scent reminded him of Charlotte. He felt the sudden uncontrolled urge to make love to her; touch her, feel, her taste her. He pushed it away as best he could but the tantalizing mystical fragrance lingered in his nose.

"One lump or two?" Maria asked as she poured, the hot brown liquid burbling forth from its painfully old-fashioned teapot into a delicate china cup. She handed it to him on a saucer after he replied that he did not take sugar in his tea and turned to take a seat. "Shoo, puss!" she hissed at the large black cat that had spread itself out upon a nearby loveseat. It looked at her with large yellow eyes and yawned. She whispered something to it in a mysterious low tone that Horatio could not hear and batted a hand towards it. Indignantly, it stood, stretched lazily and jumped off, hovering closely to Horatio, watching him with a curious gaze. Maria gracefully took the seat formerly occupied by puss. "I am so glad you've paid me a visit. Tell me of Abigail? I held the babe in my arms after birthing, you know," she said happily. "And how is Charlotte?"

"Abigail is...marvelous," he replied allowing himself a bashful but proud smile, "but it is Charlotte I come to talk to you about today."

Maria's face fell; somewhere, in the back of her mind, she had been waiting for this day to come. She knew it had been growing nearer; she had tasted it on the air. "Has she been...done a harm?" she asked, her breath constricting in her lungs so that she could not fully pull more air into them. Her hand went automatically to the age smoothed seashell necklace that hung around her neck; she rattled it slightly between her fingers. The loa were restless, whispering things all around her in nervous tones.

"No...well, yes," Horatio said, frustrated by his own inability to come up with a straight answer. "She was attacked, in a dream. But there was...when we were... Excuse me this is very hard for me," he choked out an apprehensive laugh. Maria reached over and placed a comforting hand on his knee, encouraging him. This was for Charlotte, he must go on. "She said she was...violated, in a dream. A nightmare," he corrected himself. "When we were...when I was being...husbandly, there was blood, coming from inside of her. She told me it was sore as if...as if it had really happened. I know...I know of Charlotte's dreams; they brought us together. I'm worried. She went to see Old Mother this morning..."

"Bah!" Maria scoffed, a frown wrinkling her tanned brow. "Martha!" She said no more on that particular subject. "Myrtle Chase; it is too much of the dead for the living and too alive for the dead to have dominion. What of the child?"

"It was her crying that woke us both," he told her, not sure exactly when he had begun excepting this as fact. A queer look seemed to cross Maria features; she understood him more than he understood himself.

"Midnight's child," she said quietly, now grasping at her necklace. "She was born in the in-between; light and dark both, the child will be favored." She took his hand between her own two. "I do not know what I can do but I will try. Meanwhile, you must look after Charlotte. I know you will protect her."

"But I don't know how!" Horatio exclaimed, hanging his head and running his hand through his hair. "This...this is beyond me."

"You will do the best you can," she answered matter-of-factly. "As will I." 'But what if that is not good enough?' Horatio wondered, not daring to give voice to his deepest fears and self-doubt.


	9. Chapter 9

Horatio returned later than expected; gentle tropical dusk had already begun falling when his carriage rolled up to the main entrance of the Chase. He didn't much feel like dinner, he just wanted to find Charlotte. He felt terribly guilty about being away for half the day; what if she had come looking for him? What if she had needed him and he hadn't been there for her? He remembered Bush and swore; someone would have to be sent to fetch his friend. There were no men about; he assumed this was due to the search for the missing girl, Beatrice. A few of the women in their crisp maid's uniforms were loitering about, most likely waiting for the latest news from the search party. It was getting dark, the men would soon be returning but Horatio did not want to keep his first lieutenant waiting; he grabbed the first chit who came within his reach with an unreasonably fierce 'You!'

"Sir, yes, sir," the young woman said nervously when she recognized him, smoothing her simple dress with her hand and pushing a few wildly curled strands of dark copper hair from her face.

"What is your name, girl?" he asked her. "Come on then, speak up!"

"J--Justine, sir," she replied, wondering if she was about to get punished for something; anything would do in other households as long as the master of the home was angry enough. She had heard that Captain Hornblower was a kind man; after all he had married Mrs. Charlotte, had he not? She looked more closely at him and beyond his stern gaze lay something haunted, disturbed. She relaxed, realizing that he was not wrathful just uneasy, most likely about all the fuss that was being made over Beatrice. "Is there something you need, Captain Hornblower, sir?"

Horatio breathed a deep sigh; he was probably scaring the girl out of her wits over nothing more than an errand he wanted her to run. "I apologize, Justine," he told her, releasing her arm. "There is something I would like you to do for me. My friend, Lieutenant Bush, will be coming to stay with us here at the Chase and I promised I would send someone to fetch him before suppertime. I know it is not usually your job..."

"Sir, are you asking me to go?" she inquired, her speckled chestnut eyes widening with excitement. Horatio nodded, asking her if it would be too much trouble. "No, sir!" she said adamantly. "No trouble at all, sir!" She couldn't believe her luck, she would be excused from her duties the very night she was meant to assist Mr. Lilywhite in taking inventory of the larder. She disliked the task; she disliked having to spend time alone with Mr. Lilywhite as did all the maidservants. She knew it was in fact Mrs. Lilywhite's job to take care of such things but her husband always *so lovingly* offered to do it for her so he may get himself alone with one of the pretty young things assigned to aid him. He sometimes became forceful in his attentions, chastising the girls for their 'coyness' when they rejected him. Luckily, Justine was not one of his 'favorites'; he seemed to prefer the darker of the mixed bloods he chose to help him in the task. Poor Mrs. Lilywhite, they would all whisper behind the kindly woman's back, if she only knew her husband's true nature. Shame really.

"Well, get gone with you," Horatio scolded playfully. "The Kingston Inn under the sign of The Prancing Pony. He'll most likely be waiting for you."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," she said, a grin spreading across her tanned face. Horatio watched as Justine scurried off and smiled; she reminded him a bit of Charlotte when they first had met. Charlotte, he breathed her name like it was the sweetest of perfumes; now to seek out his wife.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bush watched impatiently as the modest surrey and the driver he recognized as being from the Chase drew up before the Inn. Well, Horatio had certainly kept him waiting long enough! As soon as he caught first glimpse of the shapely leg and simple starched skirt swinging from the opened carriage door he decided his friend could be forgiven. A gay looking lass jumped out onto the street, the flickering lamplight highlighting her loosely restrained brassy dark brown hair and dusky bronzed skin, which revealed more than a warm cocoa-colored hint of her true heritage. Her humble uniformed frock, meant to conceal her moderate curves only served to flaunt the smallish swell of her bosom and the lovely round shape of her hips and waist. Yes, Horatio could definitely be pardoned for making him wait.

"You Lieutenant Bush?" she asked coquettishly, her voice honeyed with her soft Caribbean accent.

"Aye," he told her with a small smile. He noticed that her keen gaze had wandered and she was considering his meager show of baggage. "Let me get these, miss," he said awkwardly, handling his own valises and fastening them to the back of the carriage as she stood by and watched attentively. He helped her up into the coach as a gentleman would any lady. He found the irony of the situation to be amusing and told her so. "Hey, aren't you the one who is supposed to be attending to me?" he asked with a slightly raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"You're too much of a gallant for that, Lieutenant," she teased, perching upon the seat across from him.

"Chivalrous decorum is the measure of a man, Miss...?"

"Justine," she grinned at him flirtatiously, instantly put at ease by his firm yet playful air of authority. "And I do believe there are other ways to measure a man," she said mischievously. The delectably thin cut of Bush's lips quirked slightly into a cheeky smirk; she was a saucy one.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Having performed the task of informing Mrs. Lilywhite of the situation, that a visitor would be coming to stay, and watching as the woman rushed off to prepare one of the guest chambers and make sure of an extra place at meals, Horatio turned his attention once again to his wife. In truth, Horatio got the feeling that Marjorie was only ever truly happy when organizing the household affairs and left her to her devices.

No one had seen Charlotte since she had last fed Abigail and taken a late afternoon lunch; Horatio would be lying if he didn't admit he was worried. Perhaps she had joined one of the search parties, as Mrs. Lilywhite suggested. Hopefully, he strolled out onto the darkening grounds in the off chance that he might find her out there. Something drew him nearer the barn...the very place where, hiding from Arnauds, they had first made love. He spotted the soft glow of lantern light in the loft windows and entered. Cautiously, he clambered up the ladder, half expecting to be confronted with an apparition. Instead he found Charlotte, forlorn and lost in her own thought as she twirled a long strand of her ebony hair around one finger absent-mindedly. Horatio was surprised to see her dressed in her simple blouse and skirt and she, in turn, gave a start when she noticed him standing there watching her. She smiled, shuffling over on the bale of hay she was seated upon to make room for him.

"I went out with Bones' search party but...I just wanted to be alone," she explained to him as he sat next to her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to him firmly. "Be away from...all of that."

"I understand," he told her, hugging her tightly, his voice rumbling in his chest sending tiny vibrations throughout her body.

"Mmmmmmm," she giggled, nuzzling her nose into his breast as she wrapped her arms around him, "this is nice though." She hooked a hand around his neck, her fingers sliding beneath his queue and caressing the silky dampened skin of his nape. Tilting her head upwards, she surrendered her mouth to his demanding kiss. His tongue thrust between her lips, slowly and sensuously tasting her, probing the deepest, warmest corners of her mouth in suggestive rhythm. "You smell good," she told him with a smile, breathing him deeply as she slipped her hand between shirt and his waistcoat. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere important," he replied, continuing his kisses as his long slender fingers played along the dipping collar of her cotton simple blouse, brushing the tips along the tops of her breasts in a feather-light stroke. "I've asked Mr. Bush to come stay; you don't mind do you, my darling?"

"Mind? Horatio, love, I damn near insisted when at first Ardent docked!" She moaned as he moved his full luscious mouth from her lips to her neck, licking, sucking at the delightful column of flesh. She giggled. "You're tickling!" she said, stroking her hand along his stubbled jaw. He smiled his roguish little boy smile and burrowed into her, intentionally brushing her flesh with the sensuous rasp of his short wiry whiskers. She laughed and squirmed, more to increase the effect than to escape it, sweet soft moans coming from deep within her throat. He cupped her bosom with both hands, squeezing her breasts together and up through the top of her loose blouse. She arched her back, pressing herself against him more firmly and rubbing with kittenish abandon. A girlish flush heated her cheeks and she felt as a young woman in the first blush of her maidenhood. This was, after all, where she'd first given herself to him, to any man. She held him in a strangely fierce embrace as he lowered his head and buried his face between the mountainous rising of her bosom. He continued to nibble and suck as he brushed his stubble against the exquisitely sensitive flesh. She was gasping and giggling, wriggling against him in the most delectable way.

His long fingers were fumbling with the buttons to her blouse, freeing her breasts fully to him and his wicked game. He laved the swelling brown nub of her nipple with the tips of his tongue, rolling the thick wet organ around her dusky aureole. She groaned, arching her back further to offer her eager flesh to him. Grinning, he smoothed his cheek against the nipple, letting his rough whiskers tickle and abrade the splendidly tender bulb. "Horatio," she breathed, tangling her fingers in his hair. He rubbed his stubble over her soft belly, between her breasts, against each nipple in turn. He had eased her back into the hay, kissing and worshipping every inch of her exposed flesh. She burned so deliciously at his wicked touch, the pull of his lips against her teat as he suckled her inspiring a deep and kindred tug within her womb until her hot sticky desire seeped from between her thighs. The damp sweet fragrance of the hay merged with the potent masculine scent of her husband's arousal, exciting her senses further until she felt light-headed and wonderful! He covered her body with the weight of his own, continuing his beguiling kisses, his tongue's seductive dance between her lips, as his lean clever fingers plucked at her nipples.

Suddenly, the sound of voices outside brought them out of their passionate reverie; one of the search parties. "It's late," he sighed. "They'll be waiting on us for supper." With a groan, he rolled off of her and helped her button her blouse back up. "Abbie will be waiting on you for hers," he smiled, tipping her chin with his finger. "Besides, the men should be getting back soon...."

"I doubt it," Charlotte said casually, "I think Bones isn't going to sleep until he finds her." She caught Horatio's confused frown and gasped, covering her mouth. "You wouldn't know, would you? Oh, Horatio. Beatrice and Bones are pledged; they are going to be married come autumn."


	10. Chapter 10

"Excuse me," a soft, deep voice said interrupting Dr. Hornblower's silent reverie. He turned from the slatted verandah door he'd been gazing out of onto the dark moonlit grounds as seen from the safety of the manor house to see a man in naval dress standing in the doorway. He was distinguished looking, the type Samuel was sure that ladies would find quite handsome, with an angular face and keen blue-green eyes set into his sea roughened skin like jewels. He was older than Horatio but not yet old and he carried himself in a humble yet commanding manner. His son's Mr. Bush, he presumed. "I was looking for Captain Hornblower."

"He's not come back yet," the elder Hornblower responded. "Precious good it will do them to search in the dark; it would be more productive to wait until morning. You're welcome to wait with me if you like?"

The man nodded, moving into the parlor and taking a place at the double doors beside Dr. Hornblower. "Lieutenant Bush," he introduced himself.

"Dr. Samuel Hornblower," he replied, accepting Bush's outstretched hand and shaking firmly yet reservedly. Yes, Bush could see it now, the uncanny resemblance between the men; the same chestnut hair, though it was thinning and graying in Dr. Hornblower's case, the same stern yet haunted eyes that could flash fire when they wanted to. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Mrs. Lilywhite is fixing me up with an adequate sup as we speak," Bush replied. "Do join me?" Dr. Hornblower nodded and escorted the lieutenant to the dining room where the stout but pretty housekeeper was just laying out the last of the food on the sideboard.

"Do enjoy," Marjorie said with a smile, wiping her hands on her pristine white apron. "And do make sure the Captain and his missus have a bite when they come in. I'll send a tray up to their chamber if they're feeling too tired." She bid her goodnights and left as Bush collected a fair amount of food on a plate and sat down at the table to consume it in a comfortable fashion. After being subjected to what passed for food at the Inn for nearly two days, the edibles before him tasted like heaven!

It was only half way through the meal he noticed that Dr. Hornblower had not taken a seat but instead stood at the window, attentively staring out as he had been doing in the parlor. Bush got up and joined him, swallowing down the last tasty morsel before speaking. "Do you think they'll find her...the missing girl, I mean."

"Not in this darkness they won't," sighed Samuel. Gazing out, Bush could see that an almost unnatural gloom had fallen about the plantation. In the far distance he could see the defiantly blazing orange of the torches the men of the search parties were carrying. If he had been more of a poetic man, he could have looked upon the sight as a grand metaphor; the tiny flickering, so small, so insignificant, struggling against the permeating blackness. The spectacle made him think of Horatio. "It's like the night is fighting them," Dr. Hornblower said, "like it's not ready to give up its secrets." He laughed at himself, that same self-deprecating chuckle his son shared, "Listen to me--I talk as if it's a living thing."

"It's this island," Bush concluded. "It makes you think unimaginable. One can easily see how Captain Hornblower fell so easily under its spell."

"Indeed," Samuel flashed him a quick grin, "one has only to look upon his madam for an explanation to that one. She is a lovely woman and she makes him a good wife. She reminds me much of his mother sometimes." Bush started; he couldn't ever remember Horatio himself mentioning his mother. Nor, he realized, had he spoken much of his father other than to refer to him as 'esteemed' or 'revered;' but never anything really qualifiable as personal. Dr. Hornblower raised an expressive eyebrow, observant of Mr. Bush's astonishment at the statement. "She died when he was young, his mother; they were very close. As close as an introspective boy such as himself could be to anyone. I think he wishes they had been closer. You can never have been close enough to someone when you lose them so suddenly and unexpectedly."

Bush tried to imagine this new person in Horatio's life, this elusive ghost of a mother. She would be warm, caring, and sad; an opposite of both father and son's reserved demeanor. He found himself picturing Charlotte just to get some sort of mental image; lighter, more Anglican but with her same compassion and benevolence. Suddenly, much made sense to him.

"He has always spoken very highly of you," he said quietly, venturing to comment.

"I always expected him to take up my profession, he took such interest in it as a boy; or perhaps he only seemed to because I wanted it so. Clever, always watching; deciding how and when to act. Not an imaginative boy but a creative one. Perhaps we are too alike. I thought that joining the navy was a foolish notion, thought that he'd realize it and come back home within a year. But he insisted and he's always been stubborn," Samuel laughed. "He'd always dreamed of becoming a sailor. You see, when he was a child there was an empty ditch near the house. It would fill when it rained and Horatio would spend hours out there, pretending, imagining he was at sea." His voice became suddenly proud, respectful, "He would have made a wonderful doctor but he's made a life for himself, a good one at that. And I've got a beautiful little granddaughter to show for it," he smiled.

"I've yet to meet the little lady in person," Bush laughed, "but from the way Horatio speaks of her, I'd be inclined to think she was perfection on Earth!"

"Her grandfather is no less impartial," winked Dr. Hornblower. His expression darkened. "I've become far too hasty in my old age; I've said things I regret and I am afraid that they have only furthered the distance between Horatio and myself. The situation was...difficult to understand without being witness to it."

'Ahhhhhh,' thought Bush, 'Charlotte.' He really couldn't blame the man; he imagined it had come as quite a shock when he had received the news. He felt deeply for Horatio, too; so naive in matters of the heart, as eager for Charlotte's love as he was for battle, that he had not even considered the trials he would have to face, the narrow-minded assumptions that would be made about such a union.

"Gentlemen," a voice sounded from the door way and, jumping slightly, both men turned towards it to see Horatio standing there. "Mr. Bush, I am glad to see you made it safely," he clasped his first lieutenant's hand in his own. "You've eaten?" he asked glancing towards the sideboard.

"Aye," Bush said, returning the handshake. "Your household is not lacking in generosity. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think it is time I retire. Though if I may ask for one favor first, and I should have put this to Mrs. Lilywhite herself but it escaped me until now. If I could trouble you for a basin of hot water to wash up, scrub off the grime of that 'charming' little Inn," he said with a wry smile.

"Of course," Horatio smiled, "I'll see to it right away."

"Indeed," answered Bush, "if you grant me leave. Goodnight, and goodnight to you, Dr. Hornblower." The older man nodded briefly, knuckling his forehead in a casual salute that made Bush grin as he left the room. Samuel turned back to the window.

"Your wife is unwell?" Dr. Hornblower asked, noting Charlotte's absence.

"She is tired," Horatio answered. "She has been under quite a strain lately." Samuel's brow furrowed guiltily; he sincerely hoped that his callous yet, in his mind, well-intentioned comment was not the source of his daughter-in-law's ill humor. "And Abigail was fussing, demanding her immediate attention." This was said with a hint of an amused, proud smile that brought a thousand different pleasant memories crashing down upon the senior of the Hornblowers.

"You'll be wanting to retire as well then?" Samuel asked, knowingly. "Goodnight, son." Horatio nodded, echoing the sentiment and turning to leave. "Will they continue searching?" Dr. Hornblower's voice sounded suddenly, stopping his son in his tracks. Horatio frowned. "Will they search through the night?"

"Yes," replied Horatio simply, "if needs be, I believe they will." With that, he turned again and exited the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio was glad to find Justine still skulking about the manor house. Delighted to be able to put a name to a face, it was she he pulled aside and passed onto Mr. Bush's request. He wasn't exactly sure that the task fell among her duties but she seemed more than happy to comply. She couldn't help but notice and gloat over the jealous stares directed at her by the other girls as she had obviously become a favorite of the master of the house. Horatio began his ascension of the stair and Justine went about completing her newly assigned chore.

Justine made the short trip from the manor to the kitchen house often numerous times a night and it had never bothered her before now. The darkness seemed darker than she could ever remember it being and the lack of familiar faces passing to and fro only made the blackness more intimidating. At one point she could have sworn she had sensed someone walking behind her but when she had turned there had been no one there, at least not within the small perimeter of flickering light that her lantern cast. She turned back and quickened her step.

She hadn't expected the kitchen house to be very crowded and she was correct; only a few women tarried there idly, awaiting word from the men or just passing time until bedtime. The place looked empty without Old Mother's presence but Justine knew that the biddy would be off to the cove tonight. She could hear the drums in the distance as she filled a large pot with water from the well pump just outside and placed it over the fire, waiting. "Any news?" she asked and one of the other women shook her head sadly.

"Is it true, Jus?" one of the younger girls, Lou, asked, coming to sit beside her upon the hearth. "Has Captain Hornblower's friend Lieutenant Bush really come to stay with us? Is he as handsome as they say?"

"As who says?" Justine asked rather sharply, glancing towards one of the older women, Gussy, sitting in a rocking chair in the corner and arching an eyebrow pointedly. The woman, a known gossip, just snorted and turned from the younger's scrutinous glare. "Yes, it's true," Justine sighed, checking the water. "And he is *rather* handsome, if my opinion is satisfactory."

"I'm surprised he come back here," Gussy finally spoke, knowing full well that all eyes were now on her and enjoying every moment of it even though she acted as if she didn't even notice. She had worked as one of the chambermaids while Mrs. Bennett was still alive and was a font of personal information and secrets the manor dwellers would most likely wish to remain so. "He and Mrs. Abigail shared a bed, you know..."

Justine clucked her tongue. "Gussy, you shouldn't say such things!" Whether or not it was her proper manner when it came to the affairs of the manor or the pang of jealousy twisting at her gut reprimanding the older woman she couldn't be sure, nor was she entirely certain she wanted to know!

"It's true!" Gussy continued, ignoring Justine's scornful stare. "He used to wait until dark and Mrs. Abigail would have us usher him up in secret to her bedchambers. It was all very romantic..."

Justine decided she couldn't listen to any more of this. The water was almost to a boil; she took the pot from the fire, grasping it with a cloth as to not burn herself, letting the steam flush her cheeks to a sweet pink color. She poured it into a smaller, more manageable kettle, which she lifted with her apron-covered hands.

"You want to wag your tongue? Put your legs to good use for once and try to find poor Bea yourself!" With one last glance thrown at Gussy, she left, stumbling slightly under the weight of the kettle.


	11. Chapter 11

It was by sheer will power that Justine managed to heave the heavy iron kettle to the main house and up the back stairs. She plodded down the hall carpet, her arms aching all the way up her shoulders to her neck from the strain. Still, she managed to straighten her unruly hair and work wrinkled dress before knocking upon Lieutenant Bush's door. The low growl of his 'come in' drifted through the dark wood door sending a strange thrill up her spine. She quietly opened the portal and slipped inside, moving almost silently to the basin resting on a small dressing table at the corner of the room. Bush's back was to her as he gazed out the opened verandah doors and she was ever so slightly disappointed that he would not even take notice that she was there.

In fact, he had; inclining his head a little, not enough to be noticed but just enough to see the familiar, barely restrained copperish-black tresses and the swish of her skirts. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, coughing uncomfortably as he listened to the sound of the water gliding into the porcelain washbasin. "Will that be all, sir?" she asked, her voice smooth and husky and...hesitant, as if she was hoping that it would not be. Bush just nodded. He looked so withdrawn, so tragic standing there so forlornly that Justine was riveted to the spot, trying desperately to think of some way to ease the burden that he was so obviously shouldering. Perhaps Gussy had been correct...for once. If so, then the Chase must bring back some very mournful memories. She walked over to where the brandy decanter sat and poured him a glass, approaching him carefully and extending her hand, offering the drink to him. "To numb the pain," she suggested sympathetically. Finally turning his gaze on her in full for the first time, he took the glass from her, his keen eyes studying her face sharply. The gentle brown eyes speckled with gold, the full determined set of her temptingly pink mouth, gave nothing away save for her natural warmth and charm. He turned away from her but, to his dismay, she did not leave. 'Oh, Hornblower,' he thought ruefully, his suspicions seemingly confirmed, 'you shouldn't have, not with her.'

Taking a seat upon the edge of his bed, she waited. It was apparent he needed someone to talk to and here she was ready to listen. She didn't have to wait long, but what came from her lips was hardly what she was expecting. "You don't have to do this," he said softly. He turned to her and met her curious gaze; he found he could not bear it and turned away. "I don't know what your Master promised you for a night of favors but it is not necessary."

Justine couldn't believe her ears; is this really what he thought of her?! Shame welled up in her, and embarrassment and then finally anger. Indignantly, she stood, her chin thrust proudly in the air as she moved towards the door. He closed his eyes, silently cursing Horatio, whom he never thought would pull something like this. He was sure his friend's heart had been in the right place; Hornblower would know what being back at the plantation would do to him and he was sure this was his idea of comfort. But could his Captain really have...he was an honorable man, after all. If he was having doubts, it was too late; the water came down upon his head before he even had a chance to utter anything but a harsh sound of surprise.

Fists curled, Justine had spotted the basin of water and, acting upon instinct and dipping her finger in to make sure that while the liquid was hot it would not scold him, hoisted it up, emptied it over his head. He sputtered, shaking the water from his eyes and spinning on his heels to face her. Her expression was that of a mix of hurt, confusion and exasperation as she told him, "First off, you're bloody lucky that the washbasin was closer to me than the chamber pot! Second off I have no *master*, be it Captain Hornblower or anyone else! I thought you looked lonely, like you wanted someone to talk with; I'm no bloody whore!" she spat out, tears forming in her eyes. Pressing her fists to his chest, she gave a push--not enough to knock him over but just enough for him to feel the impact. She was trying to hide her now flowing teardrops, trying to push them back as she stormed towards the door. Bloody, bloody hell! What had he done?

With the thunderous strides of his longer legs he reached the door just as she was turning the brass knob, preventing her from opening it by placing a solid hand against the wood panel. "I'm--I'm sorry," he said. The words sounded inadequate compared to what he had just accused her of. "It's this place, I wasn't thinking clearly. Please...please..." Reluctantly, she looked at him and suddenly she had to resist the giggle that now bubbled up inside her. He was soaked from head to waist; his sodden chestnut curls hanging limply against his forehead and neck and water dripped from the end of his long thin nose. He smiled as the mirth returned to her face, his white teeth cutting a charmingly stark contrast against his tanned skin. Her belly was doing flip flops again as he began to chuckle, inspecting the state she had put him in, brushing the droplets of water that had formed in the wool of his jacket from his shoulders. "Well, this certainly is a novel approach to 'washing up'!"

The heat radiating from his body was tickling her own and she nearly jumped out of her skin as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I am truly sorry," he told her tenderly. What had he been thinking; he couldn't even imagine now. What words could he possibly use to make amends for the accusations he had made?! How could he have believed it of her, of Hornblower?! "Please stay," he said, his fingertips inadvertently (maybe) brushing the silky flesh at the base of her neck where her blouse ended. She shivered deliciously at the contact; had he noticed? She flushed. "You were right; I could use someone to talk with." She nodded silently, placing her hand over his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Taking her hand from the doorknob and turned away from the door, taking a seat on the edge of the bed once again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The rhythmic beat of the drums carried like a distant storm on the wind as clouds gathered over the tumultuous sea. Charlotte stood on the verandah, letting the cool salty breeze coming off the ocean blow through her shift and loose hair. The air around her seemed to be alive, humming, as if magic had seeped into every black corner that was the night; it made the hair on her arms and at the back of her neck stand on end. The night was alive, the buzzing cadence of the insects blending into the thick darkness that bled black across the grounds. The door to the master bedroom opened and she turned to see Horatio enter, one of his most charming little boy grins lighting up his face. He was carrying a tray of assorted foodstuffs, from fruit to meats to sweetmeats, which he lay down upon a polished oaken table. "I thought you'd be hungry," he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him firmly, delighting in the sensation of the ample cushion of her breasts bearing into his chest. He kissed her long and hard, letting his tongue taste and tease every sweet corner of her mouth. When he finally pulled his luscious lips away from hers, both were panting furiously. "Abbie?" he asked, nodding his head towards the door that led to the nursery.

"She's sleeping," Charlotte told him, kissing him on the chin, his stubble tickling her lips and nose. Horatio tightened his grip on her waist and lifted her clear off the ground, causing her to squeal and wrap her arms around his neck. He carried her over to a chair close to where he laid the tray, sat and positioned her on his lap, keeping one protective arm around her waist.

"Eat," he commanded, running a peach slice across her lips. She opened her mouth to receive the fruit and licked the sticky juices from Horatio long fingers seductively. His groin tightened and he could feel his cock riding hard against the woolen fabric of his breeches. She felt it to because she began to wiggle her bottom against it, eliciting a growl deep from within his throat. "The drums seem wild tonight," he observed throatily.

"Mmmmmmm," she said, moving so she now sat with her back to his chest, "I can feel their rhythm pulsing through me, like it's in my blood." She arched her back, raising her arms above her head and locking them around Horatio's neck as she rested her head against his shoulder. Languidly, she began to undulate in time with the faraway music, feeling his maleness harden further beneath the slow, stroking movements of her pelvis and backside against his crotch. Thunderbolts of warmth and titillation shot through him at each of her movements, groans escaped his parted lips as he buried his nose and mouth in her soft hair, inhaling fiercely her spicy cinnamon scent. He cupped the abundant swell of her breasts, squeezing lightly as his thumbs rubbed insistently at the puckering blossoms at their peaks. He nuzzled through the satiny fall of her hair until he found her earlobe, pulling it between his teeth and suckling at it as he longed to do to one of those enticingly taut nipples he felt beneath his touch. She gasped, increasing her rhythm, feeling the tingle in her belly tense with every stroke of his clever fingers upon her bosom until a rush of her molten lust flooded her womanhood, drenching her thighs. Spreading her legs, she raised one until the ball of her foot rested against his knee, exposing herself to the humid night air as her shift fell away from her leg and gathered in a bunch at her waist.

Unable to resist her moist promise of ecstasy, his hand moved to her thigh, fondling the sweat-dampened velvety skin with deft fingers and feather-light touches. Her gasps of pleasure urged him on as he moved his hand to cup the coarse springy pubic covering and delicious arousal swollen lips of her cunt, catching her silky nectar as it seeped from her. "Horatio..." she panted, biting her lip as waves of erotic desire crashed over her like breakers against the shore. His finger slid into her throbbing cleft easily, aided by her body's juices. She cried out, clawing at his shoulders as he found the pearl within her precious oyster, massaging the little fleshy bundle of nerves wantonly. She moved her hand to his hair, grasping his feather-soft curls tightly in a fist as she turned her face to him and pulled him down into a greedy kiss. She wanted to feel him inside of her, wanted to feel him touch her in places she knew no other man could, his long thick pulsating column of flesh riding deep inside of her. His finger slid lower and...stopped.

He pulled his hand away, the memory of her blood staining his fingers still fresh in his mind. She looked up at him and blinked. "What's the matter?"

"I...I can't," he tried to explain, sliding out from beneath her and standing. He looked hollowly at the bed; though the sheets had been changed he could still see the crimson stain where Charlotte had been hurt, violated, and where he had only caused further injury to her with his libidinous intentions in his mind's eye. Turning back to her he saw that she had crawled up into a ball on the chair, cradling her knees to her chest. She looked up to him through haunted eyes on the verge of tears.

"Do you think I'm...dirty?" she asked in a small voice. "Because of...what happened?"

"No!" he said quickly, kneeling at her side. "No! I'm frightened, I'm frightened of hurting you like I did last night!" He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it comfortingly, lovingly.

"Horatio," she smiled softly, "you won't hurt me. You never hurt me," she said, running her fingers along his cheek as she kissed him on the mouth tenderly.

"I did last night," he countered, moving away from her and sitting upon the bed. He kicked his boots off and swung his long legs up onto the coverlet, half turning away from her so she could not see the into his darkened eyes.

"That wasn't you, Horatio," she insisted, joining him on the bed and taking her hand between her own two smaller ones. She brushed her thumb against his palm gently, sending a fresh rush of blood to his nethers. "You didn't hurt me and I've healed, I have!" She climbed upon the bed and mounted him, straddling his waist, the moist heat of her womanhood exciting the rigid bulge of his penis even through the layers of his clothes. He moaned, fighting hard to keep his hips from rocking into the sweet cradle of his wife's soft and inviting sex. He began to sit up but Charlotte pushed him back down against the pillows, grinning as she braced her arms against the mattress on either side of his torso. "I want to feel you inside of me," she said huskily, bending over to kiss his neck. She felt his pulse thundering under the sensual rasp of her questing tongue. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, sliding it off his shoulders when she was finally able to liberate him of it. Protests came from his throat but he made no attempt to hinder her movements as she stripped him, taking hold of his shirt and tugging it from his breeches waistband. She ran her warm hands up the smooth expanse of his chest as she pushed the white cotton up, flicking her tongue against the hard flat nubs of his masculine nipples teasingly. He lifted his torso and arms slightly to allow her to slip his shirt up over his head. She ran her tongue along the outlines of his solid muscles, savoring the potent taste of sweat and stimulation on his skin, as her hands now went to work on his trouser fastenings.

"I think," he joked in spite of himself, grinning at the eagerness of her actions, "that we may have discovered a heretofore hidden weakness of moral character in my wife!" He groaned deeply, the sound reverberating through the room like a prayer in a cathedral, as she finally managed to free his cock from its confines and began stroking the shaft's ample length and thickness with her little hand; her fingers barely even reached all the way around it. She continued to lick and suck his chest as she pressed herself back against the stiff pole of his manhood, letting it nestle comfortably against the wet lips of her vagina and the crack of her plush bottom.

"If Mohammed won't come to the mountain..." she chuckled breathlessly, sitting up and raising her hips until, with a little help from her guiding hand, the glowing head of his prick, large and red like a ruby, rested at the entrance to her tight warm sex. He wouldn't be able to control himself for much longer, not resting at the threshold of his love's masterpiece of beauty. Still convinced he would do her an injury, and perhaps more than a little bit excited by this game, he used every last ounce of self-restraint he had to stop his hips from thrusting upwards, effectively burying himself in her in one violent plunge. Instead he watched in fascination as she slid down onto him, inch by inch disappearing into her deliciously wet sheath, feeling her silken walls contract around his ultra-sensitive cock. "Oh Gawd, Horatio!" she moaned, feeling him stretch and fill her until she swore she could never feel hungry or empty again. At last she was sitting again on his hips, the full length of his hard cock contained inside her belly, the soft hair of their pubic mounds intermingling.

Horatio gritted his teeth to stop from crying out in rapture as she began grinding her hips against his, her bottom slowly rising and falling as she rode him, tightening her inner muscles around him in pulsating motion. Her eyelashes fluttered down over lust-filled clouds of brown and she began to pant frantically as her rhythm increased, desperate to fulfill him, desperate to be fulfilled. "OH!" she cried out, pumping her hips faster and faster. "Oh! OH GAWD! Oh, Horatio! You feel unbelievable, amazing! Like velvet, like steel! OH!" She braced herself against his chest and felt his muscles tense; he was trying so hard to hold himself back. With a few hasty yanks, she removed her shift, pulling it up over her head, and leaned forward, rubbing her breasts up and down against his bare chest with each of her of her pelvic motions. Her marvelously tender nipples tingled at the contact, heightening her bliss to the heavens. Her wetness surged from her, drenched not only his penis but his scrotum and thighs as well. It was too much for Horatio; he could feel his heavy stones tauten as his rod continued to swell. Her words, the sensations caused by her actions, his love, his desire for her, all broke over him simultaneously. He was a shooting star blazing across the night sky.

He flipped her over and began to drive himself into her furiously, raging with lust and love and passion. He pinned her to the feather mattress as he plunged her slippery depths relentlessly, his tongue ravaging her mouth as his cock did the same to her femininity. His large hand grasped her breasts, kneading them firmly, pinching the wonderfully erect peaks until he felt the first extraordinary shudders of her climax start to move her beautiful body. He felt her milk coming from her nipples as he continued to pull and twist at them and lowered his mouth to suckle it from her as his crisis was upon him now as well. His hot creamy emissions shot from him, into her womb, the shell of her sex, even down her thighs, as he continued to pump her with every fierce discharge. Her vagina gripped him, squeezing every last drop from him as they shared in mutual completion and satisfaction. Both of their senses were spinning wildly as they collapsed into each other, reciprocally cooing and panting their love and hunger for the other. He nestled into her tightly, holding her as if he'd never let go, his head cradled upon her bosom. He chuckled.

"What?" she asked with a smile.

"I think the mountain just came to Mohammed," he teased. "You are absolutely incredible, my love." He kissed her breasts until both their ardor was a-flame and he renewed his attack with lips and tongue and cock, driving them both to fulfillment again and again until at last, exhausted, they fell asleep, safely curled up in each other's arms.


	12. Chapter 12

Bright, tropical sun shown through Bush's eyelids, setting his closed eyes alight in a sanguineous flare. The sound of steady, peaceful breathing flowed evenly like the warm Caribbean breeze and it took William a moment to realize it was not his own. He opened one eye experimentally, then the other, gazing upon the softly slumbering face of Justine resting next to his upon the pillow. He was holding her hand, fingers entwined but, much to his relief, they were both fully dressed if somewhat rumpled from sleeping clothed and atop the coverlet. They had conversed well into the night, finding themselves sharing with each other things they had never spoken aloud to any other being in their lives; they must have fallen asleep talking. Their bodies were so close, he could feel the gentle heat coming from her, smell her intoxicating scent of cloves and cinnamon. Brushing the stray locks of her hair from her forehead tenderly and running his finger along her heart-shaped face and over her delicately parted rosy pink lips, he could scarcely resist the invitation. She was so near him, he had only to tip his head forward slightly to take her full bottom lip between his two own and suck upon it lightly before putting his mouth to hers, drinking of her kiss deeply. It was a moment before he realized she was returning the kiss.

He broke away suddenly and sat up, blushing furiously. "I'm--I'm sorry," he said swiftly, somewhat out of breath, "I should not have taken such liberties..." He was silenced as she placed her hand upon his chest comfortingly, her fingers working their way beneath his unbuttoned waistcoat to touch him through only the cotton of his shirt (his topcoat still lay over the verandah railing with the intention of drying it out but from its state, Bush could tell there had been a rather nasty rainstorm last night and it would not dry yet for some hours). She rested her chin on his shoulder and he turned to look at her, his sharp blue-green eyes meeting her own soft brown ones. She was smiling, her black hair's copper highlights shining in the early morning light as he curling tresses fell about her shoulders and waist and bosom. Good Gawd, she was beautiful. She carefully reached out and brushed her fingertips across his cheek, tracing the lines of his forehead teasingly.

"I have to go," she told him calmly, her eyes grinning at him along with her luscious mouth. "I've work to do and I should return to my own bedding before someone notices I'm gone." She ran her hand through his hair and he lowered his head to kiss her again; softly but not exactly chastely. His lips were exquisite, chapped and roughened by his life at sea but still so masterfully tender. His hand brushed her breast and she shivered delightfully. This time it was she who broke away, thinking she might not be able to stop if this went any further, and of Mr. Lilywhite and if her absence was discovered by him; the leering, suggestive comments he'd make about it. She smiled at Bush apologetically. "Right," she sighed. "I better get me gone." She slid off the bed and quietly out the door, and just like that she was gone, leaving him to wonder if it had all been a dream; if she hadn't really been there at all. Her lingering fragrance reminded him that he had not merely imagined her presence in the first place. He grinned, moving of the bed to dress himself fully.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte had awakened only once during the night, nearing two or three, to feed Abigail. Horatio had no idea how she had known the baby had wanted her for the little thing had made no sound to indicate so; perhaps it was routine, mother's instinct, or something more? He wondered.

He had followed her, not content to let her out of his sight for a moment, determined that if anything should try to assault her again, he would be there. He had watched the babe nurse her with fatherly pride and a husband's love, and afterwards followed her back to bed, once again enfolding her tightly in his arms. She smiled, snuggling into him, both amused and touched by Horatio's devotion and dedication to protecting her.

They woke again mid-morning from what proved to be a thankfully uneventful slumber. The sun was filtering lazily through the slatted shutters, making cheery golden impressions on the floor. Charlotte saw to Abbie and began to dress as Horatio threw open the verandah doors and was nearly blinded by the gleam coming off of the distant glassy sea. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh damp morning air which still carried a hint of the thunderous but short-lived downpour of the night before and tucked his half-turgid manhood into his breeches, grinning mischievously as he did up the fastenings and gathered his shirt into the waistband. When he turned, he was nearly blinded again by the sight of his wife. She was wearing the simplest of fashionable dresses, made of the lightest of fabrics and with a high empire-waist that, with its square low-lying neckline, accentuated her full bosom nicely. The sleeves were straight and short, ending in a thin lacy ruffle above her elbow, and the white-and-navy-blue-stripe pattern set off her natural radiance. She was pinning back her hair when she noticed him staring at her. "What?" she frowned. "Don't you like it? I'd it specially made."

"Like it?!" he laughed, ignoring her playful fussing and scolding as he swept her into his arms and they fell to the bed together. "You, my lady, are stunning," he told her, making her giggle and squirm as he buried his mouth into the curve of her neck and his hands roamed her delicious body. "I think I might just have to ravish you!"

"Oh please, kind sir!" she pleaded with feigned indignation over her flighty laughter. "Have mercy on me!"

"Mercy?! I don't know the meaning of the word, madam!" he grinned wickedly, settling his body on top of hers. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, dipping slightly into the hollow at the base of her throat before moving his excitingly wet and hot organ down to the rapidly heaving swell of her bosom. He slid his tongue between the two luscious globes, nipping at her supple creamy flesh, eliciting a squeal of delight from her.

"Rogue, scoundrel, cad!" she cried with exaggerated melodrama, giggling and moaning lightly as he continued his depraved attentions, his whiskers tickling her as he burrowed his whiskered chin and steamy mouth into her décolletage.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hornblower!" a shocked and embarrassed voice sounded suddenly from the direction of the doorway to the main hall. They both turned their heads to see a female figure standing there, her hands covering her bright red face and tightly shut eyes. She stood there rigidly, the linens she'd been carried in a pile at her feet having dropped them in surprise as she had walked in. "Sir and ma'am, forgive me..."

"It's all right, Hill," the both said in unison, Horatio rolling off of his wife to allow her to stand. He made a mental note to set a chair up against the door tomorrow morning.

"Come along, Charley, I'll do your hair up," the woman said still refusing to look at either the bed or Horatio directly.

Charlotte sat up and gave her husband a quick smacking kiss on the lips, telling him as she ran her hand across his jaw, "You will see to shaving eventually, won't you?" He gave her his best eat-you-all-up smile as he kissed her palm. 'Eventually,' he thought to himself, standing and moving towards the washbasin to clean up a bit.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte's arm in his, Horatio escorted his wife into the breakfast room. His father greeted them instantly and could it be merely his imagination or was the older man trying to be more pleasant to Charlotte; complimenting her on her dress, on her hair, which hung in silky ringlets about her shoulders. Marjorie busied herself, rushing to and fro, making sure that everything they wanted was present while her husband, the unpleasant man, was standing there officiously, obviously waiting until he could obtain their full attention. Self-important prick.

"Captain Hornblower," he said, completely failing to even acknowledge Charlotte's presence which made Horatio bristle; he fought hard to contain his animosity towards the man. "We've news, though not of Beatrice I'm afraid." A look of obstinacy and anxiety crossed James' features just then, Horatio thought. How curious. "It's the ancestral crypts, sir; they were built on low lying land." Charlotte opened her mouth to speak; she felt as if she should be the one explaining this to Horatio. It was, after all, *their* estate. But Lilywhite went on without taking notice of her so she kept her mouth closed. Horatio had caught his wife's subtle movements however, and the look of submission on her face afterwards made him cringe. "They have a tendency to flood, especially in the downpours, such as we had last night, and such as frequent the coast. There has been some concern on their behalf this morning, after the rain. I would like to inspect them myself before we take action..."

"No need," Horatio interrupted. This he understood; the running of a household was not so unalike the running of a ship. He was sure as soon as he caught on to the ins and outs of Myrtle, he'd do just fine. With Charlotte to help him, of course. He gave her hand an encouraging and affectionate squeeze. "The search parties are still out, yes? And they check back periodically? Have them look into it, perhaps they have even witnessed the circumstances first hand already." James looked as if he were about to question him, so Horatio added decisively, "That is my decision." He noticed Marjorie smiling at him proudly as if she were his own mother and he had just stood up to the biggest bully on the playground. He was about to put in that he did not appreciate the man's behavior towards Charlotte and that he would not continue in such a manner when she spoke for herself.

"Mr. Lilywhite, when you address Captain Hornblower you will address myself as well," she said firmly, "as you do when he is away. I am still involved in the matters of this household and I would appreciate in the future if you inform me first hand of situations concerning the Chase."

James looked at Horatio smugly as if waiting for him to contradict her, to put her back down in her place. "You heard her," Horatio said curtly, returning the man's glare sternly. Lilywhite looked as if he were about to spit out a bitter comeback but decided to hold his tongue and instead replied with a 'yes, sir' followed rather by a rather churlish 'yes, mum'. Horatio slipped his arm around Charlotte's waist, hugging her tightly, so filled with adoration for her at the moment.

After the broke fast, Horatio asked after Mr. Bush and Marjorie told him that the lieutenant had been up earlier and went for a stroll about the grounds. Horatio decided to join his friend and Charlotte excused herself to look in on the baby. "It's a shame really," James commented to Samuel after the pair had departed. Dr. Hornblower arched a curious eyebrow at the man and waited for him to continue. "That such a fine old estate as this," Lilywhite explained and the elder Hornblower noted that the man's hands had curled into fists so tight his knuckles were the color of chalk, "should have passed to such an uppity," he spat out the word, "one of *her kind*."

He would not have thought it possible, but that one expressive eyebrow of Samuel's shot up even higher upon his forehead. "Sir, I am not sure I understand what you say," Dr. Hornblower answered as diplomatically as he could. Good Gawd, is this how he had sounded to Horatio just two nights ago?! "You are speaking of my only son's wife, the mother of my grandchild."

"I am sorry," Lilywhite said through a forced smile. "I believed us to be of the same mind on the subject."

"Then you were very much misinformed," Samuel took umbrage. With that, he stood and took his leave, not caring to continue this particular conversation.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hullo there!" Bush called out to a nearby search party, his commanding voice booming across the short distance. Bones recognized the lieutenant as he led his band closer and nodded by way of a greeting. Bush returned the gesture, his long distinguished face grave and ashen. "I've found something quite gruesome; I think you should come take a look."

He'd been off to visit Mrs. Bennett's grave when he'd made the discovery. The ground was unusually sodden around the cemetery and the graves all seemed to have shifted as if restless. He remembered something about sea level, and water and sand content to the ground, how easily graveyards could flood in such an environment. He had located a steady trickle of water coming from one the moldering crypts that dotted the small piece of property; a particularly noisy raven's cawing had drawn his attention to it and he had glared up at the bird dubiously as he had approached. The gate upon one of the ornate stone buildings was slightly ajar and Bush had peered in reluctantly. He'd spied a figure lying in the water that had collected at the bottom of the structure and ran to get help immediately when he found that his strength alone was not enough to push the heavy gate any further; the water seemed to be preventing it.

Bones ordered his men to put their backs into it though some seemed reluctant, muttering about how it was 'the Old Master's' tomb, a 'bad' place, but Horatio joined them, having heard Bush cries of distress and having followed them to the cemetery plot, and that seemed to drive them onward. They heaved against the door until they were sweating and out of breath; the veins were standing out from Bush's forehead most prominently. Finally, it gave enough that they could slip in one by one. It stank inside of damp decay and putrescence, and even the strongest of men had to cover their noses with their hands and sleeves.

Bones gave out an anguished cry and knelt in the ankle deep water next to the unconscious figure Bush had first spotted, lifting it into his arms until everyone could see it was a young woman, her face battered and bruised, her clothes torn and stained with her own blood. 'So, this must be Beatrice,' Horatio thought, feeling his blood run cold as ice, watching Bones cradle the still form against his breast. He felt the color drain from his face and he turned, finding purchase against the tomb's sole occupant: a stone funerary box which held a rotting casket.

Bush bent down next to Bones and checked the girl, feeling for a pulse. She was in a bad way; her wrists held burn marks as if her hands had been tied and she had struggled against her bonds and the disarray of her clothes indicated that she had most likely been violated, perhaps repeatedly, but to his great relief she was still alive. "She's still breathing," he told Bones, placing a sympathetic hand upon the man's shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "We need to get her to Dr. Hornblower immediately; we'll know best how to treat her." Bones nodded, lifting her delicately into his strong arms and holding her tightly yet gingerly as he carried her off with the help of the others. Horatio remained.

"Will," the Captain's voice sounded softly as Bush was readying to leave as well. It echoed off the walls and, though he was not a superstitious man, if William hadn't known the sound had come from Horatio he would have sworn it had arrived from beyond the grave. "Come look at this." Bush joined him at the coffin. The stone lid, he could now see, had been slid back ever so slightly and the wooden casket within smashed to splinters. Maria Alva's words came back to Horatio as he stood there, looking down upon the wrecked grave: 'Too much of the dead for the living and too alive for the dead to have dominion.' A shiver wracked his body.

Bush wanted to recoil but stopped himself and looked to Horatio questioningly. "What does it mean?"

Horatio shook his head, "I don't know. But I know it can't be a coincidence. Tell me, what do you think of James Lilywhite?"

"Haven't really spoken with the man. Why?"

"I don't know, it's probably nothing but something has been sitting uneasy with me," Horatio answered solemnly. "He didn't want anyone coming out here before he did; why? It could be nothing, but I think it's best we keep our eyes out for him, Will." Bush nodded. "This means something, I know not what but I know of people who will understand it. Come let us go, I am reluctant to be away from Charlotte for too long." With that, the two men exited the crypt though the chill that it had inspired would not leave their bones for many hours to come.


	13. Chapter 13

Bones held Beatrice's hand as if it were made of eggshells though his grip remained tight, protective. She lay still as death atop the patchwork quilt of her bed in the servants' quarters of the Chase as Dr. Hornblower looked over her. She was in a bad way, Horatio could see that; she was as a wraith, a beaten and bruised specter with her gaunt sunken features and her thick dark hair framing her shoulders like a cloak. Her arms were folded solemnly over her chest giving the whole thing the air of a wake. Bones watched every movement the elder Hornblower made apprehensively, occasionally rubbing his work-callused hand over his shaven head nervously, hoping to gain some hint, some clue, some insight as to his beloved's condition from the older man's demeanor. Horatio knew that he would not, for his father had years of professional experience in masking his expression. Even so, he couldn't notice Dr. Hornblower's unusually solemn countenance.

"What do you think?" Bush asked quietly, standing in the narrow doorway beside Horatio. Horatio just shook his head and shrugged helplessly, rubbing his jaw; he was acquiring something of a thin beard in the past couple of days. They watched as Dr. Hornblower said something to Bones in an undertone, placing a firm hand on the man's muscular shoulder in a consoling manner. He packed in his black medical bag and moved towards Horatio and Bush, taking his son aside. Offspring looked at parent expectantly, as if he were still that little boy who believed that papa could put everything to rights.

"I don't know," Dr. Hornblower admitted, "I just don't. She's been beaten and there's no doubt that she's been violated, repeatedly. But some of the wounds... I don't know what to make of them. Nothing... natural could have produced those injuries. If she makes it through the night, *if*," he stressed off their hopeful looks, "she will most likely never fully recover. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Horatio inclined his head. "You've done your best," he said quietly, sincerely. Samuel sighed and left, patting his son upon the shoulder and throwing one last glance at Beatrice's gravely motionless form as he departed through the servants' hallways.

"Something's bothering you," Bush observed perceptively as they remained to keep their hushed vigil alongside Bones.

"It could be nothing," Horatio answered but Bush could tell that whatever it was was weighing heavily on his captain's mind and so he urged him on. "I was just thinking of something Lilywhite said, the morning Beatrice had gone missing: 'She must have gone off to town to visit a beau' or something like that; I can't remember exactly. How much would you know, Will, of what was going on in your household?"

"In Lilywhite's position, enough to know that Beatrice and Bones were to be married," Bush answered, understanding his friend's suspicion. "That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Do you really mistrust Lilywhite?"

"His manner sets me ill at ease," confirmed Horatio.

"But surely your madam would...."

"Mrs. Bennett did not know of Arnauds' or Raynier's torment of the servant girls," Horatio breathed rigidly. When it looked as if Bush were about to take offense or leap to Abigail's defense, Horatio added quickly, "There are too many concerns with the running of the plantation to know of everything that is going on within these walls or out upon those fields, especially when it is being willfully hidden."

"There is someone I can talk to, one of the maidservants," said Bush in a forcibly ambiguous manner that made Horatio wonder. "Perhaps she will be able to shed some light?"

"Do it," Horatio said, though questions clouded his features. Bush had no desire to answer any of them at the moment so he nodded and left, supposedly to find his mysterious contact. Horatio turned his attention back to Bones, who was still holding his love's hand delicately, whispering to her in soft, encouraging tones (or were they incantations?) as if he could will her back to consciousness with tender words alone. The captain stepped into the room, his boots thudding loudly in the eerie stillness of the small chamber as he tread across the rough, unfinished wooden floor boards until his shin bumped lightly against the edge of the modest sleigh bed. Bones seemingly took no notice of him until he spoke. "They seem so fragile," Horatio said so quietly that one could have mistaken it for some sort of unearthly murmur.

"Sir?" Bones asked, looking to him, blinking dully as Horatio's words brought him back to the world of the living. Horatio found he couldn't gaze upon the two of them without seeing himself and Charlotte in the same appalling position (a premonition? Foreshadowing? Or simply empathy?) and so he avoided looking directly at them lest his stomach should feel the sickness that that thought brought with it.

"Women," Horatio explained, gawking down at his shoes. "They seem so delicate, so easily broken, but they're not. Sometimes I think they're stronger than us, in their own ways." Bones nodded at him, a strange understanding passing between them. They stood in silence, listening to Beatrice's shallow, rasping breathing, each wordlessly praying to their own gods for a swift and at least partly agreeable outcome to this nightmare.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Justine didn't look up from her needlepoint as the maids around her began to titter and giggle; undoubtedly they'd found some new bit of gossip to chew over. She wanted nothing to do with it; her mind dwelt on Beatrice, upon the horrific glimpse she'd caught of her friend as they had carried her through the servants' hallways. The servants' parlor was unbearably hot, being in such a position that the sun hit it for the better part of the day and though the windows were open, very little breeze wandered in. Justine wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and went back to the sampler she was working on. The giggling intensified and, having enough of it, she looked up to chastise them and their frivolousness in such dire circumstances when she spotted the source of their amusement: Mr. Bush was standing in the doorway to the parlor trying to catch her attention. Blushing slightly, she stood, straightening her gown and trying to ignore the inquisitive stares from the other maidservants. "Lieutenant Bush, what can I do for you, sir," she said formally and loudly, making sure the girls heard that this was the visit of a superior to a servant and nothing more... intimate.

"Ah... yes," he said, clearing his throat as he followed her eyes as she cast them to the side to indicate the other girls in the room watching them, "I know this must seem terribly unorthodox, but as the Master and Mistress of the house seem to be occupied elsewhere I thought I would take my request to you myself. Water."

Justine raised an eyebrow. "Water, sir?"

"Yes," he replied with a small smile bending just the very corner of his mouth, "I did so enjoy the bath I had last night" (at the, Justine found she had to fight to contain a grin) "and would be most grateful if you could see to a kettle of hot water making its way up to my room tonight, there's a good girl."

The message was obvious: he was trying to get her alone. Her heart was pounding straight out of her chest and was somewhat surprised that no one else seemed to be able to hear it. "Yes, sir," she said a bit too enthusiastically. "Of course, sir; I'll see that it is done." After he had left, she found it extremely difficult to concentrate on her needlepoint; her mind was fairly swimming with plans and fantasies of the evening to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte rested her cheek against the strangely cool, smooth painted wooden railing of little Abbie's cradle, singing softly a lullaby her mother used to sing her to sleep with. She was surprised with herself that after all these years she still remembered each and every one of the soothing notes and words, though she was sure that the sound of her voice was nowhere near as sweet or pleasing as her mother's had been. Abigail cooed and stirred, staring up at her with an alarmingly keen yet adoring gaze as she sucked at her fat knuckles. She was restless, as if she could sense something was wrong. Sometimes she reminded Charlotte of Smoky, an old gray cat that used to sleep beside the hearth in the kitchen house in her youth; always gazing into the shadows it was, as if it could see, it could *perceive* something that the normal eye could not. She smiled, tickling the baby's tummy, and she was rewarded with one of Abbie's melodious little chuckles.

The child stopped, suddenly serious as she twisted on her blanket to gaze past Charlotte towards the door to the hallway. Frowning, Charlotte followed her stare and started when she saw something move past outside the only slightly opened portal in a blur of darkness. She froze listening for the sound of footsteps retreating upon the heavy carpet but heard nothing save for the wind tangling in and caressing the palms outside the opened verandah doors. Abbie's expression had turned wary, unsure and she seemed to be burbling a warning. Slowly Charlotte stood, making her way to the door cautiously. Her stomach was turning knots with each careful step. She pulled open the door and peered down the corridor in the direction the vague shape had moved--nothing.

A sudden, unexpected creaking caught her attention as a door at the end of the hall slowly and deliberately opened. She was aware of the echoing sound of her footsteps before she was even aware she was moving; strange, how she seemed to be making so much noise in the oppressive silence, how the walls seemed to warp and distort as she passed. An illusion surely; the day's events must have been getting to her. She knew the room she was walking towards; it had been Abigail's personal parlor when she had been mistress at the Myrtle. Only Charlotte and Marjorie possessed a key, and it had always been kept locked. She pushed open the heavy oaken door, half expecting to find some dark apparition there, waiting for her, to pounce upon her again. The room was empty. She stepped inside.

"Is anyone in here?" she asked timidly. No reply. There is something essentially chilling about posing a question to an empty room; perhaps it is the anticipation of an answer.

It was hot; the slatted shutters had been firmly shut when the room was abandoned and locked down and had not been opened since. It smelled peculiarly, of the lavender powder Mrs. Bennett had always been so fond of wearing. The scent was strong, sweet, almost like decay. A desk at the far end of the room had been recently forced open and objects lay scattered about the otherwise orderly and long-untouched room. Without thinking, Charlotte bent to sort the mess out, collecting papers and knick-knacks until she realized that the things had belonged to the Old Master (funny how, even now, years after his death and with the knowledge that he was her father, she could not bring herself to even think his name). She stood abruptly, dropping what she had been holding as if it burnt her hands, listening carelessly as a small porcelain figure broke into pieces against the thinly carpeted floor. Had someone come in here looking for something or had this just been mindless vandalism?

Charlotte jumped as something suddenly fluttered lightly against the wooden shutter nearest her. Her hand was shaking as she reached out to the rod that manipulated the window coverings, sunlight filtering in as she gave it a tug, opening the horizontal blind. Hesitantly, she glanced out. Nothing.

She let out a surprised scream as suddenly a flutter of black filled the window. Insistently, the raven battered itself against the shutters again and again like a thing possessed, its wings large and sleek as they beat against the wood; the caw of its voice seemed to be warning her to beware.

The thin thread of her stubborn sanity that had been keeping her together all day finally gave way. She gave another cry, tripping over her own skirts as she backed away rapidly and falling onto the floor. She cut her hand on the broken bits of the porcelain statuette she's broken earlier; crimson spread wear her palm met the rug. She quickly scrambled to her feet and, turning to run, ran straight into a strong, solid chest. She shouted in alarm again, beating blindly at the shoulders and arms that were now holding her tight with balled up fists until she realized those were Horatio's arms and Horatio's shoulders, and he was trying desperately to calm her. She stilled her struggling and began to weep; her husband just held her. After a moment she was aware through her calming hysteria that he was lifting her and carrying her off to their chambers.


	14. Chapter 14

Horatio sat on the edge of the bed, his wife's back to him as he placed a firm hand on her upper arm, rubbing gently in a circular motion with his thumb, as he handed her a mug with the other. "Coffee," he said softly as she excepted it from him with a quizzical look backwards over her shoulder, "Marjorie made it; she thought it might calm your nerves." Charlotte nodded, taking a sip and settling back against the pillows. She looked at her hastily bandaged hand, tracing the outline of the injury with her eyes by the line of blood on the otherwise pristine white linen. It ran exactly where her scar resided; *the* scar, caused by the wound she had afflicted upon herself what seemed like so very long ago. She could still remember the blade gliding along her flesh; Auntie Maria's voice urging her to tell the loa what she wished; the desire spoken that should never have been given voice. She had asked the spirits for Raynier death, and then he had died. Why was she still thinking of that? His brother, the vagrant, had killed him; she had been with Horatio the entire time.

"I wish you'd let my father take a look at that," Horatio sighed, glancing at the scarlet stained dressing on her hand.

"It's really not that bad," she answered, turning on her side again, away from him. "I've had worse; it will heal."

Horatio brushed her silken ringlets aside and pressed his full lips to the sweat-glistening nape of her neck, brushing lightly; soft kisses like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings. Charlotte smiled into the pillows in spite of herself and she found herself pushing back against him. "Marjorie said she'll be bringing a supper tray up as you seemed in no condition to come down tonight," he whispered lightly, his hot breath teasing the delicate shell of her ear as the very tip of his tongue brushed her lobe. "Which means we have the night...." he placed his arms solidly around her waist and turned her to him, "all," he brushed his mouth against hers, "to ourselves." He kissed her deeply, passionately; it was a kiss of comfort and love and lust and yearning as his tongue smoothly penetrated her lips and claimed possession of her mouth, swirling around her own, daring it to respond. It did with the same ardor he himself was showing. She tasted wonderful; the bitter sweetness of coffee along with her own intoxicating flavor.

"And what are we going to do about this?" she asked playfully as he released her from the kiss, rubbing her finger along his stubbled jaw, his whiskers prickling her fingertip.

"I'm growing quite fond of it," he said with mock indignation. He couldn't help but break into a grin when she laughed airily, rubbing her nose against his unshaven cheek. Her arms slipped around his neck in a gentle embrace. "Tell me what happened," he approached the subject carefully.

"Nothing, Horatio," she replied. She pulled back and gazed into his eyes, seeing there the concern, the worry. "It wasn't like... like last time; I just had a fright. It was silly really, getting all worked up over nothing. I feel quite the fool." He fought back the protective urge to press the matter further as she appeared completely sincere. He gave her an encouraging smile, kissing her amorously as he worked to shift their bodies so she lay beneath him. "Mmmph," she chuckled against his lips, breaking the kiss with a giggle. "I'll spill the coffee, Horatio!" He smiled and took the mug from her hand which he only realized now she was precariously trying to balance in her hand during the force of his sensual attentions. She took his momentary distraction as an opportunity to slyly slip out from under him. She moved towards the mirror and basin, taking the pins from her mussed hair so it fell about her waist in an ebony curtain, the ends still caught in their ringlet curl. He watched as her hands snaked around her back and, one by one, unfastened the buttons of her frock. His fingers itched to join her, to aid in her shedding of her dress, but the tease proved to be more intriguing. The buttons stopped at the high waist of the gown and, bending slightly, she took the hem of the garment in her hands and tugged it up over the rounded swell of her hips and then up over her head. Horatio was beginning to feel that familiar warm stirring deep within his lower belly and between his thighs, especially when her dress caught the edge of her chemise and lifted it momentarily above her buttocks, affording him a fabulous view of her shapely thighs and backside.

She noticed him watched her, his eyes dark smoldering reflections of his desire. She smiled and crooked a finger at him, imploring him to join her. He needed no more incentive than the mischievous look in her eyes. "Sit," she commanded impishly, pulling a chair up and giving him a little push with just the tip of one finger; he complied. She was fiddling around with a few objects that lay next to the basin and he frowned when he recognized one was a shaving brush.

"Here now!" he protested, beginning to stand. She halted his movement by crawling onto his lap, straddling his waist. The warmth in his groin had begun to grow into a distinct, delicious throbbing as she wriggled herself into position.

"Stop behaving like a child," she admonished teasingly, dabbing a bit of shaving soap foam on the tip of his nose playfully, "I've one babe to look after already." He gave her the best scowl he could manage, though the growing confirmation in his trousers of his delight with the situation gave him away as it pressed insistently into the warm open cradle of her thighs. They were both snickering like children as she lathered him up and reached for the razor laying at the edge of the basin table; it's blade was sharp and clean, gleaming in the room's fading sunlight. "Do you trust me?" she asked, her laughter ceasing.

"Implicitly," he replied in all earnestness, giving her hand a squeeze. He strokes were smooth, gentle, like the whisper of a kiss not the scrape of cold steel that it was. Horatio closed his eyes and leaned his head back; he had dreamed of this for sometime. Since that gawd-awful Spanish prison; he remembered Kitty touching his face, the allure of her words and the wicked thoughts running through his mind. He grasped Charlotte's hips with both of his large hands, kneading the soft flesh like a cat, practically purring as she continued to rid himself of his bristly whiskers with the utmost care and attention. he shifted his hips slightly, trying to reduce somewhat the tension building in his genitals only to find himself brushing against the heated dampness of her feminine charms, further inflaming him. His hand wandered to her breast and squeezed as a shudder wracked his body. The razor slipped and she nicked his cheek. He hissed through clenched teeth at the sting of a wet cloth against the wound as she carefully wiped away the beading drops of blood.

"That's what you get for distracting me," she huffed in annoyance, though she punctuated her words with a tender kiss to the scratch. "Up!" she ordered, tipping his chin upwards. He felt the cool razor against the vulnerable flesh of his throat and reflected upon how, as a captain, this was exactly the type of predicament he fought to avoid! But he had been right and true in telling her he trusted her implicitly; he gave his position nary a second thought as he surrendered to the once again increasing sensations within his aroused body. He gasped as she began giving quick kitten-like licks to each new bit of flesh she uncovered with the blade; he couldn't take much more of this. Relishing the effect she was having on him and unable to resist herself, she intentionally squeezed the muscles at the insides of her thighs, clasping the bulge in his woolen trousers of his now burgeoning manhood between them. He groaned deeply, the sound reverberating through the razor into Charlotte's hand and sending a noticeable flutter of excitement through her. Enticingly sticky and hot wetness oozed from her, fairly drenching Horatio's breeches where she sat. She fought to keep her hand steady as her mind ran over the possibilities of what Horatio might be contemplating doing to her.

Finally, she finished. She smiled, her eyes glittering like jewels, like stars in the dusky gloaming of her skin as she retrieved the cloth she had used to stop his bleeding and wiped away the excess shaving lather. She kissed him fully on the lips, savoring their shape and feel as well as their taste. He once again cupped her breast, savoring its heavy suppleness as he molded it in his palm, rolling his long thick thumb almost lazily around the circumference of her nipple, feeling it pucker and harden into a sweet little knot beneath his touch.

Then Abigail began to fuss in then nursery and a knock sounded upon their chamber door; they sighed in unison. "That would be Abigail, wanting her supper," Charlotte told him, pressing her forehead to his.

"And that," he motioned to the doorway, "will be Marjorie with ours." Reluctantly, they disentangled their passionately entwined bodies and stood. Horatio watched as his wife disappeared through the entrance to the nursery, turning and strolling to open the door for Marjorie, who came bustling in carrying a tray piled high with all manner of edibles. "Good evening, Mrs. Lilywhite," he greeted as she set the platter down upon the table nearest to the verandah. He was trying to hide from her the very prominent swelling at the front of his breeches with a well placed hand or a shifted leg; he wasn't succeeding exceptionally well. A lovely twilight breeze was floating in through the slatted shutters, carrying with it the perfume of myrtle bush and dampness Horatio had come to associate so strongly with the Chase. "How goes it?" he asked, clearing his throat as he positioned himself advantageously behind a waist high chair.

"Well, well," the amiable woman replied. "There has been some improvement with Beatrice; she gained consciousness earlier, though she could not speak. It is very encouraging. And Mrs. Hornblower?"

"She's looking after Abbie," Horatio said with a small fatherly smile that made him look more like his father than he probably would have wished. "She was just given a fright this afternoon and the cut is very shallow, it should heal quickly. She is feeling much better now. Any solution as to how that particular room was opened and what might have been missing?"

"I don't understand it, Captain Hornblower," Marjorie shrugged. "Only Charlotte and I hold a master key to the house; it was obviously not Mrs. Hornblower and I would have no reason to. As to your second question, sir, it is hard to say as there exists no inventory for the previous owners' personal belongings. It's hard if not impossible to determine what if anything was taken though I am assuming you are considering this as the motive for breaking into the room in the first place?" Horatio confirmed her suspicion with a nod, noticing that the woman was now playing with the edge of her apron nervously, brushing an imaginary lock of hair behind her ear again and again and, perhaps most curiously, playing with her wedding band. He frowned slightly, rubbing his smooth chin and suddenly missing the comforting rasp of his whiskers. Her manner was unusual, uneasy. "Will that be all?" she asked.

"Yes, quite," he murmured, still wondering over the sudden peculiar change in her demeanor. "Thank you very much, Marjorie; you're very kind." With that, she curtsied and exited a little too quickly in Horatio's opinion. Strange.

"Got you!" Charlotte laughed, catching him off guard momentarily as she grabbed his waist from behind.

"Got *you*!" he said, turning quicker than she could have guessed he was capable of and ensnaring her in his tight embrace as she gave a squeal of delight and surprise. He lifted her effortlessly and threw her onto the bed between the parted mosquito netting. She landed with a small 'oof' upon her stomach, her knees just at the edge of the mattress as the lower half of her legs dangled over the side. He prevented her from turning over by pressing his own weight to her back, pinning her shoulders to the coverlet as he laid atop her.

"What are you doing?" she giggled, squirming beneath him, further inflaming the all-consuming fire in his belly. His solid erection pushed demandingly against her round bottom as his mouth tasted her neck and his hand slipped around her to clutch and once more play with the delectable weight her breast, teasing its engorged peak with skilled fingertips.

"Need you ask?" She could hear his wide roguish grin in the tone of his husky, sensual voice.

"I need not," she chuckled, "for I am well aware of it by now, it is just the manner in which my husband chooses to..." Her voice slid into a low lusty moan as Horatio's hand slid between her thighs and his long fingers began caressing the damp lips of her feminine treasure. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he urged her onto her hands and knees, kneeling on the floor at the edge of the mattress he replaced his fingers with something much hotter, much more delightful: his own sensuous full lips. He forced his mouth into her from behind, his long thick tongue easily parting and navigating the creamy folds of her cunny, lashing and lapping at her clit with precision and accuracy, making her writhe and call out her bliss. She felt the waves of rapture start to emanate from the tension in her tummy as he tasted and sipped at the silky emissions that were coming from her in generous amounts, noisily drinking down love's ambrosial offerings. The fire building within her exploded and she spent with a cry of ecstasy; he didn't cease his oral attentions. He continued his feast, taking advantage of her orgasm and its effect on her, inserting a finger into her and wiggling it against the hyper-sensitive and highly receptive walls of her sex. She was on the verge of tears, a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony shaking her to the height of emotion, when he stood and, after a brief struggle with the fastenings, rid himself of his trousers and replaced his fingers with his fully raging cock.

Her straining flesh clamped around him, sucking him deeper as he thrust into her, bucking his pelvis against her bottom wildly. He grasped her thighs tightly, lifting her legs so they encircled his waist; she was supported only by her shaking arms against the mattress and Horatio's passionate clutch on her hips as he moved inside of her. Again and again he retreated almost to his rod's large ruby-like head only to renew his charge and plunge into her more strongly and deeply. At this new angle, he was able to penetrate her in ways she had never imagined possible, touch places inside of her she never even knew could bring her so much joy. The were moving like animals but animals they were not but lovers, eager to please and to please themselves. He grunted as he came, spilling his seed with vigor, thrusting with each ejaculation. She followed soon after, her muscles clenching around him as she reached for heaven and collapsed among the clouds.

The next she was aware, she was laying flat on her stomach against the bed, Horatio atop her panting heavily from his zealous exertion. Her own breath was leaving her in speedy and deep exhalations. He kissed her flushed cheek tenderly. "I love you so much," he whispered. She just smiled; she was too exhausted to do anything else.


	15. Chapter 15

Justine stood on the threshold of the entrance to Lieutenant Bush's bedding chambers, staring nervously at the thick oaken door. She straightened her skirts for the fourth time, again questioning her decision to change out of her uniform to the blouse and colorful skirt she wore when not working. She had debated the choice, weighing the advantages of each option again and again in her own small room. The uniform was safe; if he hadn't in mind to seduce her (Lawdy, what a thought!), she would not embarrass herself by showing up on his doorstep in intimate dress. On the other hand, the uniform was cold and formal; he might be put off by it or misread the signals she was trying to send out (did that make her the seductress?). She took a deep breath and knocked, waiting for his growl of 'enter' to send pleasant prickly little chills down her spine as it had the last time. He surprised her by opening the door himself, haloed by the flickering candles that lit his room, his eyes luminous in their radiant blue-green majesty; just like the sea, Justine thought. "Water, sir," she said, hoisting the heavy basin in her arms to get a better grasp on it. It was all for show, a pretense of course; she'd gotten this water from the well closest to the manor whose waters tended to be harsher than the one nearest the kitchen house and hadn't bothered to heat it, therefore, it was thoroughly unsuitable for washing up. As soon as she had carried it in, he had taken it from her and swiftly emptied the basin over the verandah railing. "Just in case," he told her with a wry heart-stopping half smile.

He started, but only for a moment, when he noticed her casual attire and, with a warm flush, how it seemed to accentuate every natural curve the slim girl had. He had seen the servants who lived outside of the manor wearing similar outfits so he tried his best to put it from his mind... for the time being. "How fares Beatrice?" he asked as she took a seat at the corner of his bed and he pulled up a chair to face her, seating himself upon it.

She shrugged, maybe he *did* just want to talk. How disappointing. "I haven't been to see her or Bones since she was brought up to the house, " she replied, glancing at her shoes sheepishly. "I just couldn't bear it. Is that very wicked of me?"

"No," he said quietly, taking her wrist in his hand and squeezing gently, reassuringly. "Justine," his voice was low but commanding, powerful yet so gentle and understanding that it made her look up instantly to meet his eyes. Those eyes; she felt as if she could drown in them. "I need you to tell me about Mr. James Lilywhite."

The request surprised her and suddenly she was filled with the urge to tell him everything; her fears, her suspicions of the man. Bush could clearly see she was conflicted, trying desperately to determine what he wanted to hear from her. "The truth," he told her and something in his honest and sympathetic tone told her his next statement was unquestionably true, "you can tell me."

"It's just..." she found the words hard to say, they stuck in her throat like bile, "it's just, he likes to get the girls alone, you know? He makes chores for us so he may find his own pleasure in watching us fulfill them, like the larder inventory. He touches, handles sometimes. One time when I was up upon a ladder, he tried to sneak his hand up my skirt. He slapped me for resisting him," she now realized she was weeping with shame as she told him this; she had never confessed it to anyone before, not even her fellow maidservants though she was sure they all had similar stories of abuse. "He... he called me a whore, a temptress; said it was my fault for leading him astray. It...happened more than once. I was frightened... I was frightened he'd try to force..." she couldn't bring herself to say the words. "He is larger than I, and stronger, and the scullery is isolated; he always made sure we were alone with him."

"Good Gawd," Bush tensed, a new disgust for the man welling up inside of him like rage. "Why did you not tell anyone of this?!"

"We are treated well here, I value my position very highly," she explained desperately. "It would not be easy for a woman... such as myself to find work outside of the Chase. He threatened to have us sacked if we didn't keep quiet, the lot of us!"

"Did you ever see him with Beatrice?"

Justine tried to snort but through her tears it came out as more of a honk. She laughed at herself and Bush handed her his handkerchief, which she used, briefly then kept in her hands, plucking at its edges distractedly. "She was one of his 'favorites', which meant he paid her 'special attention'; she was to take inventory with him the night she disappeared but... I don't know if she ever had the chance to." So, Horatio's distrust was validated, Bush thought with a tight frown. But what of Beatrice's other wounds, the ones that could not be explained? Had he to do with those as well?

Justine felt relieved to be telling him all this, as if a great weight had been lifted off of her. She felt so close to him, so... intimate, as if she could tell him anything. The feeling made her giddy as it had last night when she had told him so much she had never revealed to anyone else and he had returned the favor; the burden of her confession was now shared between them. He took it from her without judgment, without uncertainty or reservation. She felt the overwhelming urge to be closer to him, to kiss him. She leaned forward and did just that, delicately tasting the salt of his thin lips. He just stared at her as she pulled back, astonishment shadowing his features. "Why?" he asked softly, resisting the craving to lick her flavor from his mouth.

"I thought you looked like you needed..." she started with faltering bravado, and then breathlessly confessed, "I needed it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... I misunderstood..." She was flustered, dazed; just talk, she chastised herself; he'd invited her here to just talk! She stood and turned to leave when she felt the lieutenant's strong grip on her shoulders, turning her back to him. He was on his feet now too, gazing into her eyes as he brushed the loose strands of copper-highlighted black curls from her shoulders. His fingers cupped the nape of her neck while his thumb pressed against her chin, forcing her head back, forcing her to look up at him. She felt naked beneath the penetrating stare of those keen eyes of his, utterly vulnerable and yet so safe and calm. He brushed his lips against hers so lightly she couldn't be absolutely sure it had even happened. If he was searching for some sign of encouragement, her arms snaking around his waist must have been more than sufficient for as soon as she entangled him in her embrace he pressed his mouth to hers fully, deeply. His tongue charged boldly between her lips, caressing and tasting with relish as he hummed tunelessly, sending a shiver through her from the pleasant vibrations. His large hands were on her slender hips, sliding up her ribcage. He filled his palms with her small firm breasts, feeling her nipples pebble under his caress. She arched into his touch. This was all moving so quickly, too quickly.

"Justine," he murmured, breaking the kiss but reluctant to release her from his grasp, "I'm not sure..."

"But I am," she said adamantly, pressing her nubile body against his firmly. She could feel the budding stiffness between his thighs as surely as she could feel the ache within her own womb. She was delicious tingling at the apex of her thighs, a throb building, awaiting his attention, and her skin yearned for his touch. She kissed him, softly, pleadingly, again and again. Her fingers were undoing the buttons to his waistcoat, sliding it off his shoulders until all she could feel was the tensing sinew of his beautiful, strong body hot beneath the cool cotton of his shirtsleeves.

It had been so long since he had had a woman, even longer since he had wanted one as much as he wanted Justine. He had rid himself of his manly urges in a varying manner of ways but he hadn't been a lover since he had shared Abigail Bennett's bed; no one had excited those passions in him since Abigail. Justine just had. Any hesitation he had had about the situation was driven from his mind as she got to her knees before him and unloosed the fastenings to his breeches, sliding them down to his ankles along with his stockings. His half-erect cock leapt free of its confines; even in its semi-turgid state it was a sight to behold, long if not overly thick with a large glowing head that reminded Justine of a precious smooth jewel at the end of a noble staff. Her tongue thrashed at the shaft of salty flesh while her fist clutched it at its base, thumb and forefinger squeezing lightly with alternating pressure. His strong hands grasped her shoulders, half to keep her this close to him, half to steady himself by bracing against her. She watched his expression as she took him into her mouth, sucking the first earthy drop of his maleness from the head of his swelling member before pulling him all the way to the back of her throat; his expression bordered on blissful agony as she suckled him in and out, moving her head down on him and withdrawing only to repeat the descending motion of her mouth over and over. He let out a growl and a rapturous hiss as his hips began rocking gently in time with her rhythmic pull of her lips and tongue, tangling his fingers in her hair desperately.

She felt his cock extend and grow harder, the loose skin tauten into a firm silken column, until only about half of its entire length fit when she took him all the way in. She enveloped his balls in her other hand, feeling the hard stones within the velvet sac roll under her fingertips and tighten. His fierce grunts were intoxicating, his potent male scent the sharpest and headiest of perfumes she had ever inhaled. His time was nearing. He pulled her away and up to him for a kiss, gently but urgently forcing her down onto the bed. She raised her hips for him as he unfastened her skirt and slid it down her waist and shapely legs. She then sat up to allow him to pull her blouse, which doubled as a shift, over her hips, head and shoulders. Good Gawd, she was exquisite; the sheen of sweat that covered her mocha tanned skin caught in the candlelight, turning her into a bronze goddess. The handsomeness of her face was only accentuated by the lust that now lay upon it and her breasts stood proud and firm yet still felt supple under his caress. He bent his head to pluck at one of her rigidly distended bronze nipples with his mouth, suckling her delicately. She moaned, running her hand through his chestnut curls adoringly, letting their ends twist around her fingertips possessively. She untied his queue, letting her fingers explore the full length of his hair.

He grinned and stood, removing the last of his trousers and stockings from where they lay unceremoniously pooled at his feet. He then drew his shirt up over his head and, from her sharp intake of breath, gathered she was enjoying the newly exposed view. He was lean yet so muscular; she could see his sinew move beneath his roughened sailor's skin fluidly, could see the power, the strength. His cinnamon colored nipples were hard like candies, his stomach flat and taut like canvas stretched over a drum and was marred only by a nasty looking but healed scar that cut a path across his chest. Her eyes fell to the coarse trickle of hair that started at his belly and ran to his groin. He had a full and bushy pubic mound from which his enormous prick, now fully engorged, stood proudly from. "How does my Lady measure me now?" he asked with a devilish grin.

She moaned softly, unable to even get out one witty word in reply. She parted her legs and shifted her pelvis upwards in an unmistakable invitation, gazing at his through half-lidded eyes and fondling her own breast, such was her stimulation. "Come to bed, Will," she managed to say thickly, as if through a mouthful of honey, "come into me." Her last words melted into a pleading whimper as he laid his body on top of hers and she felt his manly stiffness slide against the sensitive moist lips of her vagina. He kissed her as his hands kneaded her breasts, pinching the nipples delicately, sending shocks of pleasure through her with each nip of his fingertips. One hand began delving lower, skirting around her tummy, playfully tickling her until his fingers reached the nest of black curls that modestly concealed her eager womanhood. He drove one finger between the swollen lips of her slit, probing the slick skin hidden within. She cried out as he rolled her clit with his fingertip, hardly comprehending the intense blissful sensations that were washing over her body in sugary waves. A surge of her nectar flooded from her, covering his hand as her inserted another finger and then another. "Will, please," she breathed between his burning kisses, squirming beneath him excitedly.

He removed his hand and sucked her essence off of each finger as he slowly entered her, rocking his cock into the slippery tightness of her most intimate parts. It had occurred to him and his initial resistance to her advances had been based on suspicions that she might be a virgin and to defile her would be a shame he would not want to carry; he was relieved to feel no resistance as he pushed in, feeling the honeyed walls of her sheath contract around him. Her lustful wetness along with her saliva, which his dick was still glistening with, made it any easy glide, despite the fact that she was very small down there. He thrust into her to the hilt, feeling her body arch bellow him, allowing him to go as deep as possible. He stared down into her eyes and realized these things he was experiencing, the intense emotion and passion as well as the tormentingly rapturous physical delights, she was feeling them as well. He held himself like that for a moment, buried in her to the roots of his affair, allowing himself to take it all in, enjoying the delightful shudders that were wracking both their over-stimulated bodies. Then he started to move, at a leisurely pace at first then gradually, as his need built, harder, deeper. She moved with him, raising her hips to meet each of his penetrations, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles over his muscular backside.

She hadn't expected it to happen so quickly or to even happen at all, but her crisis was suddenly upon her, starting like an explosion of sensation in her clit and abruptly erupting all the way up her spine, filling her vision with sparks as warmth spread from her belly to her limbs and her dizzy, spinning mind. He grunted savagely as he felt her clench around him strongly, quivering with her orgasm, and came himself, pumping his seed into her with his final thrusts and then collapsing in exhaustion, shifting so he would not crush her.

He was breathing raggedly as he cradled her in his arms, running his hand through her hair and admiring its slightly coarse texture, the like of which he had never felt before. She was regaining her wits, her wild panting calming as she snuggled into him, planting little kisses along his breastbone. "That was..." She grinned; she needn't even finish her sentence. His arms tightened around her.


	16. Chapter 16

The pale light of the moon bleached the fine sand beneath Old Mother's feet the color of ivory, the crimson flicker of the bonfire staining it sanguine like blood upon fresh fallen snow. Heaven and Earth, the old woman thought as she watched her own feet shift in the delicate grain of the sand, through her sandals and her toes. The worn seashell necklaces that adorned her clacked against her sagging bust as she danced and her thick, short graying braids fell about her face as her heart began to pound in time with the rhythm of the drums. She felt old, her bones brittle and delicate and yet the tempo was moving her as never before. The loa were all around, she could feel her trance like state beginning already. Something was out there, lurking beyond the protective realm of the cove, waiting in the darkness. Tonight was the night to expel it before it could do more harm. Strange thing; Old Mother could never remember feeling so afraid in her entire life. At the back of her subconscious, she wished the Doctor was there with her; not just in spirit form but in the flesh. 'Husband,' she thought, 'give me strength to do what need to be done!'

The other dancers were now only blurs of white cloth and dark skin, the drums thrumming through her like her own pulse. She felt as if her eyes were closing though she could still see, as if she were peering out from behind her eyelids. There it was, moving through the night like oil, like liquid decay; it was a stain upon the world around it. And she was calling it out. A few of the other dancers, girls who had simultaneously achieved the trance, were whimpering, shying away from the thing as it now circled them. What could only have been its eyes were gleaming like amber with malice as it watched them, licking its lips with its long slimy tongue. It wasn't natural; by Gads, someone had summoned this thing, made it what it was: a vessel of pure hatred and violence and barbarous sexual appetites. But what was its purpose? To punish? Old Mother refused to be cowed. "Be gone!" she yelled venomously, pushing her hands towards it as if she could just shove it out of existence. "Yer nuttin'; a shadow! You don' belong to this world or the next. Leave dis place, I banish ye, I banish ye!"

"Foolish old woman," it said as one in a tone that echoed as various voices speaking in unison, "*We* are the masters here. You have no power over us, witch!" With that, it reached out one impossibly long arm and impaled her through the chest with its powerful, fetid claw-like hand. She cried out, feeling it penetrate her, moving through her insides, forcing itself into her mind, her soul.

"Ye will not have me!" she spat, gritting her teeth through the pain of the invasion. "Ye will not have me!"

"The you will die, bitch!" it cackled, lifting her and throwing her towards the fire. She screamed as the flames licked at her flesh, thrashing around to catch hold of anything that would have her. She became aware of hands clenched tightly over her arms as her fellow dancers were pulling her out of the blaze, throwing sand over her to put out her blazing clothing and hair. She was badly burnt, wheezing through smoke filled lungs, but she would live. She was aware that the trance was over and the creature was loose once again; she could feel its power throbbing through the putrid air it left in its wake. She was aware of one more thing as she tried to look around her through solid milk colored eyes: she was now completely blind.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte awoke. The moon was riding high and pallid in the deep night sky, shedding silvery moonbeams in the slatted pattern of the shutters upon the wooden floor. Horatio was fast asleep, using her soft bosom as a pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist while one clutched her bottom. 'Cheeky', she thought with a smile, wiggling out of his embrace, careful not to wake him as well. It was difficult in the position they were in, but she succeeded eventually, managing to get an unconscious reaction from him in the process. 'Sweet dreams, my love,' she thought as she felt his hardening cock brush her thigh, shuffling off the bed.

Abigail wanted her; she wasn't sure how she knew as the babe was making virtually no noise but she did, just as always. The infant was awake in her crib, glancing dubiously about the room with her unusually keen eyes and sucking at the corner of her blanket as Charlotte entered, dragging her shift on over her head. "Don't need your nappy changed," she determined by the smell, or lack thereof, in the small powder scented room, though she checked anyway. Abbie gazed up at her, holding out her chubby little arms and making a small imploring sound like a sob. Charley lifted the small thing into her arms and gave her a small playful bounce, tickling her tummy with her finger. "Are you hungry?" she asked, pulling her chemise down her shoulder so her breast was exposed, pressed against her daughter's cheek. "Is that why you're fussing?" Abbie made the strangled sobbing noise again, turning her head away her mama and peering around the nursery again. Charlotte frowned, cradling her baby in her arms, concerned as an odd feeling began to creep upon her, prickling the hairs at the back of her neck.

She strolled over to the verandah doors and opened, hoping some fresh night air would help to settle the both of them. The drums in the distance were frantic; she'd never heard them so frenzied, so tumultuous before. Suddenly, a scream of pure agony broke their savage rhythm and Charlotte let out a cry not realizing that no sound had ever even left her lips, withdrawing into the nursery and closing the verandah door firmly behind her. Something was horribly wrong. She wanted to cry for Horatio but the words stuck in her throat. A familiar female (Mrs. Bennett?) voice spoke into her ear, merely a whisper from another world, "Get out of this place...go...now!"

The shadows seemed to be moving, shifting, darkening malevolently and obstructing her exit as they blackened the doorway that led to the master bedroom, her path to the safety of her bed and her husband. She was frozen to the spot with fear, not daring to challenge the corrupted gloom that was creeping about the edges of the room. 'Oh God,' she thought as terror washed over her, her stomach clenching with horrific realization, 'it was going to happen again!' She pressed Abigail firmly to her bosom; it could do damn well whatever it pleased with her but she would die before she'd let it hurt her child.

And then it was there, oozing out of the blackness like sick: the Master Creature. She could feel its intent, its hunger and rage; it made her skin crawl. It slithered towards her, its clawed hand-like appendages outstretched to capture her, hold her down, do what it pleased with her.

"You think you're something special, bitch?" it laughed. "You're nothing; a half-breed hussy!"

"Come to Papa, my sweet little one; I'll have you, my pretty little whore, like I had your mother."

"We'll put you in your place, you cunt! You'll learn who is master here!"

Abigail stared it down, her features twisting into what would be construed when seen on an adult's face as determination and disgust. It caught her eye and started to back away, seemingly unsure of what to do. Abbie pressed her advantage and began to cry, wail in fact; the shadows cringed away from the sound as if it were pure sunlight and retreated. Charlotte, weeping silently and scared to death, finally found her voice and screamed desperately for Horatio.

"Sweet Jesu!" Horatio swore, bounding into the room while still pulling on his breeches; his heart had gone cold at the sound of his wife's panic, his blood felt like ice water pumping through his veins even though somehow a feverish sweat had broken out along his frowning forehead. Without thinking he ran to Charlotte, blocking her bodily from the creature, which hissed and spat at his presence, writhing as Abbie continued to bawl. It tried to advance upon them, but Horatio's presence had apparently unsettled it and it seemed reluctant. Cursing, it collapsed to the ground in a noxious cloud of rotten stinking smoke and fumes and was gone. Abigail's crying immediately ceased. Horatio was seething with fury, frightened and raging at the same time. He had seen with his own eyes now, the disgusting thing that had mercilessly raped his beloved, and had hurt it in some way, or at least had kept it at bay. How? With the sheer force of his will to protect his endangered family? He didn't care for what reason just so long as it kept working.

"Oh, my sweet," he said distressed, clutching the quietly sobbing Charlotte in his arms, careful not to crush Abbie between them. "Tell me it didn't hurt you again, please tell me I wasn't too late!" The words caught in his throat; he couldn't bear the thought that he had slept soundly while that thing... His ire rose again, this time it was directed at himself.

"No, Horatio, no," she wept softly, burrowing into the solid protective power of his chest. "You and Abbie, you saved me." She gazed up into his eyes, her own still misty, filled with the remnants of her fright as well as admiration and love for him. He took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her, softly, tenderly.

"I love you, Charley, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you from harm," he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. "I promise you; we both do." The two of them looked down at the babe in Charlotte's arms, Horatio tenderly cupping his daughter's head in his large hand. She chuckled at the contact and grabbed at his fingers, her carefree demeanor returning to her.

Horatio settled into bed, tucking the coverlet up around Charlotte's shoulders and over Abbie, who lay on the mattress between them. He kissed his wife warmly as he wiped away with a brush of his thumb the last traces of her tears from her cheeks. She smiled and closed her eyes, letting out a breath as she relaxed. He gently ran his hand through her hair and along her shoulders until he could feel her ease into slumber. He grinned down at his little Abbie, who gave a wide yawn and curled up into Charlotte's breast and gave her one last tickle before gathering up his pillows and propping them up against the headboard. He leaned on them in a half sitting, half laying down position, determined to keep watch. His vigil would continue until the first rosy tendrils of dawn began to kiss away the blue-black velvet of night and he too fell into sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lieutenant William Bush snored. Not the kind of snore that rattled windows or irritated anyone within earshot; a soft, comforting snuff of a sound that Justine rather fancied. It was the sound of a man who had no intention of sneaking from the bed while she was dozing, leaving her to wake alone. It was the sound of repose, of tender rest after satisfaction. It was a sound Justine hoped secretly to herself that she would be waking up to many more times.

Dawn was arriving; not yet but soon. She would be missed eventually but at that moment, with her head resting against Will's chest, listening to and feeling the steady rise and fall rhythm of his breathing, those were the furthest thoughts from her mind. He was warm and even in sleep his hand continued to stroke her back just above her buttocks with his long callused fingers. She sighed in contentment, wishing he were awake, wishing for more of his deliciously wicked kisses to rain down upon her.

She frowned and looked up as the door to the main hallway creaked open slowly, just a bit as if an errant draft had caused the unexpected movement. Justine squinted against the darkness, her heart thundering against her ribcage, as she believed for a moment that she had been caught. Silence; nothing happened. She was just about to settle back down when she heard a voice, low and rasping, whispering just outside the door. "Justine," it called playfully, "Justine; won't you come out to see me?" She froze; there was something in the tone of the voice that gave her a shiver, turned her stomach and made her want to cry all at once. She jumped slightly as a small scratching sound scraped against the outside of the door. "Justine," the voice said again, "I'm so cold."

She recognized that voice: Prudence, one of the missing servant girls. She found herself scuttling off of the bed, cautious not to wake Will as she stood and pulled her camisole on. "Prue, is that you?" she asked, her words coming shakily from her throat. "Where have you been, Prue? We've all worried ourselves sick over you! Prue, answer me!" A little giggle floated to her from the corridor outside.

"Come out and see for yourself," the voice said again and this time it was tinged with a sort of unfathomable sorrow and bitterness. Glancing one last time to Will as if she were expecting him to wake suddenly and warn her not to proceed. He stayed pleasantly dreaming. She pulled open the door and stepped out onto the thick softness of the hallway carpet. She looked left and then right; it was empty both ways. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tightly as a chill invaded her body.

"Prue, are you out here?" She felt a hand on her shoulder, cold as frost, and shivering turned to stare into the glassy death stare of what had once been her friend Prudence. She was a nauseating shadow, an apparition of violence and brutality; her naked body was covered with bruises and putrefying wounds, one of her breasts slashed beyond recognition. Adeline, the other missing girl, was standing beside her in an equally distressing state. Justine tried to scream but she felt as if the very darkness of the house itself was smothering her.

"They're after you now," the Prudence-thing spoke without moving her mouth. "They want you; you've been a very naughty girl and now they want you too. You'll be like us, Jus," it touched her face gently, running the backs of its blackening fingers along her cheek. She fought the urge to lose the contents of her stomach right then and there. "It'll make you hurt, like it did us. Run, run, RUN!"

But it was too late; the shadows came crashing down upon Justine like a tidal wave, drowning her, smothering any sound she might have been trying to make in protest and fear. And then all was blackness.


	17. Chapter 17

"Child," Old Mother managed to croak out, reaching her hand out to Charlotte as the she rushed into the small bedroom at the back of the kitchen house. She'd come as quickly as she could when Hill had told her what had transpired last night; Abbie was just finishing her morning feeding when news had reached Charlotte and she'd barely bothered to dress before dashing off, calling to Horatio to find his father and bring him to the kitchen house.

She hesitated for only a moment before taking the ancient biddy's hand in hers, seating herself at the edge of the bed and kissing the backs of the crone's burnt fingers. "I'm here," she said, trying to sound strong even if tears were no tumbling down her flushed cheeks. Old Mother cupped her face in her hands, searching the younger woman's features with her fingertips, her milk-white eyes staring off into nothingness. "I'm here," Charlotte repeated softly.

"I'm sorry, little Charley," she said ruefully, her voice hoarse from her injuries and from regret. "I wasn't strong enough for it. I wanted to protect you, but I wasn't strong enough. Who's that? Who's there?" she asked, suddenly alert as a pair of footfalls sounded against the rough hewn wood plank floor. Charlotte turned to see her husband entering with his father in tow. Horatio placed a steady comforting hand on his wife's shoulder and clasped firmly.

"It's just Horatio and Dr. Hornblower," Charlotte answered, squeezing Old Mother's hand gently. "Dr. Hornblower is going to make sure you're not badly harmed. Will you let him?" Old Mother nodded and reached out her other hand to Samuel. He took it and let her feel his arms and his face until she felt secure enough with him that she relaxed and let him get on with his examination. Her body, though burnt rather severely in some places, would heal, though Samuel was unsure as to what would become of her eyesight for he had no real explanation as to why she had lost it in the first place.

"You, boy!" Old Mother barked suddenly, uncannily turning her blind gaze towards Horatio. "Ye take care; yer the master here now, remember that! Ye take care of yer family, ye take care of the Chase. Ye the master here now, that gives ye power of it."

Bones had appeared in the doorway and was cautiously hanging back until he could get Horatio attention. "Sir," he said, glancing uneasily at Old Mother, "it's Beatrice, sir; she's awake. She can barely speak and she don't know her letters so she can't write it but she insists there's something she needs to tell you, sir."

Horatio nodded and turned to Charlotte. "Go on," she told him, "I want to stay with her a bit longer." Reluctantly, hesitant to let her out of his sight, he agreed. He knew what the old woman meant to her and what she must be going through. And, at least for the moment, his father was here to keep her safe though he'd much rather do the job himself; there were jobs too important to be trusted to other people and this was one: keeping his beloved protected and out of harm's way. Still, the situation did not allow for anything else; she was determined and he was convinced that anything Beatrice had to say would be important if not crucial to solving this viscous mystery. With a sigh, he instructed Bones to lead the way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bush grinned as he awoke; the delicious warmth and delightful aching of a night of vigorous love making settling on his body like a cozy blanket. He could smell her musk on the sheets and in the air around him; the scent of her arousal mixed with the spicy perfume of cinnamon lingered in his nostrils. He turned on his side, burying his face in the feather pillows, inhaling her fragrance lustily. It titillated him greatly and he felt his already alert manhood begin to react. Grinning, he reached out for her if only just to revel in the sensation of holding her soft warm body to his in glorious embrace until, inevitably, they both had to rise. He frowned; the bed was empty. It was cold where she had been when he had fallen asleep; she'd been gone for some time. So, this was it; somehow, he had thought that it had meant more than this. Maybe he had just fooled himself, trying to justifying what he had felt for her, what he had felt when they were making love. He sighed, sitting up and angrily throwing his pillow across the room, mocking himself for being so blind. There on the floor, next to where his pillow landed, lay Justine's skirt. And there, at the edge of the bed, were her soft leather moccasin-like shoes. She hadn't gone anywhere without those.

His body tensed with panic as his mind ran through every feasible explanation; he dismissed them all. Something had happened to her, right there as he slept. Why hadn't she woken him? Why hadn't he woken? He cursed himself as he hastily dressed, stubbing his toe and tripping over his own feet in the process. He'd lost a love here once, he was not prepared to do so again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Beatrice took a wheezing breath, struggling with her first words and touching her throat where evidence of long strap like bruise could still be seen as she adjusted herself into a sitting position against her pillows. Bones shot her a concerned look, taking her hands in his.

"You don't have to do this," he told her frowning with worry. "Not now, we can wait until you've recovered. Captain Hornblower can wait, can't you, sir?"

The girl was in terrible shape, how could he say no? She met his eyes, there was tenacity and resolve there; life, spirit. She knew as well as he did how important this was and therefore would not be deterred.

"He...never violent before," she wheezed, her voice strained and sore. "Resisted...Lilywhite. Up against the pantry wall...he was holding me still, hand...over my mouth so I couldn't scream. Forced...skirts up. Tried to close my eyes till...over." Her body was taken by a sudden and violent coughing fit, urging Bones once again to beg her to reconsider reliving this and forcing herself to speak it. She shushed him with a sweep of her hand, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief and Horatio could detect a small amount of crimson on the small white scrap as she folded it and placed it on her bedside table. "On the floor, he was on top of me..." she continued and Bones looked away. Horatio understood; this was painful. Not as painful as it was for Beatrice, but something akin to a knife twisted in the gut nonetheless. "His belt...around my neck...from behind. Don't know how long it lasted, I...eyes closed. He kept calling me things...temptress, whore, half-blood, tainted. That's it, that's the word he kept using: 'the taint'. I didn't know what he meant.

"And then I thought it was all over," she sniffed, turning her head as she tried to hide from them the tear that was running down her cheek. "I could barely move...hurt all over. Thought he'd...left. Then blackness, like a...living thing. It was in my lungs and eyes. Felt it all over again, the taunting, the violation. Then darkness. Don't know how...got into crypt. Lilywhite," she repeated, spitting out the name like a bad taste.

Horatio felt his hands curl into tight fists. My Gawd, this was beyond reprehensible! He took a deep calming breath though the hatred in his tone was palpable, "Bones find and...restrain Mr. James Lilywhite." He punctuated his next words through clenched teeth, "BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY."

"Aye, sir," Bones nodded, his jaw and dark eyes set with conviction. "Is there something else you wanted, sir?"

"Your rites, Bones," Horatio started thoughtfully, "the ones you practice in the cove. If a white man wanted to learn of them, where would he go?"

"Not to anyone here, that's for certain," the man answered. "The fear of discovery and exposure would be too great; our secrets are our own. But there are places in Kingston a man could go, if he were willing to pay a pretty price for it."

"Right," Horatio nodded; and he knew just where to start. He turned to leave and, as he was going, said over his shoulder, "By any means necessary, Bones. And if he resists, gather the men and use force." Descending the servants' stair with purpose, he didn't notice Bush tromping right towards him until they had almost collided. "Will, what...?" he frowned, noticing that his friend was gripping very tightly in his hands a lady's skirt.

"Justine, she's disappeared," Bush responded gravely. "Gone missing like the others." It took Horatio a confused moment to comprehend whom his friend was speaking of and another to understand how he knew or why he cared. Realizing that he should probably be explaining himself and realizing also that there was in fact no polite explanation for any of this, Bush flushed and noticed Horatio's similarly awkward coloring.

"The girl, the one you were going to talk to last night about Lilywhite," Horatio said, clearing his throat. Bush understood the man was giving him an excuse, saving him from answering some of the more improper questions; he nodded the affirmative. "There's something more to all this sinister business, what I cannot say. In any event, I am sure of one thing: that bastard's behind it, he's behind it all! Ride with me to Kingston? I have a friend there that might be able to help us."

"I should stay and try to look for her..."

"Think, man," Horatio replied perhaps more sharply than he ought to have. Bush was anxious, distraught, making Horatio remember his own feelings of impotence when that... creature had attacked his Charley. "Listen," he tried to reason, gentling his tone and putting a comforting hand on his officer's shoulder, "we only found Beatrice when she was next to death, and it was only luck that led us to her in time. The other missing girls we still are unable to find even a trace of. The best way, the only way, you can help Justine now is to stop this before it can continue any further." Bush assented somewhat reluctantly and followed his captain to the carriage house.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio found himself standing once again in front of the two story brick home with the black-draped windows with their gleaming white shutters knocking insistently upon the scarlet-stained door. The entrance opened a fraction and half a dark face with a distinct Spanish air about her features regarded them dubiously. "Not a good time," she snapped sharply, "come back later."

Horatio blocked her from slamming the door in their faces by wedging his foot in between the heavy wood portal and the doorjamb. "I assure you, Miss Alva," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument, "I would not be bothering you if this was not of the utmost importance."

She eyed them both and nodded, opening the door and letting them into the house's small reception room. "Wait here," she instructed and disappeared into the back parlor where she had entertained Horatio. They heard a few muffled words exchanged between Maria and a baritone-voiced male whom Horatio could only assume was one of her customers. The man's voice rose indignantly but in the end he was defeated by a few of Maria's calmly hissed utterances and he appeared, blustering through the hallway from the parlor to the door, glancing at the two of them briefly, his white flabby flesh flushed from anger and presumably the exertion of having to walk so many steps so quickly, his beady eyes narrowing at them before he stormed out of the home. He slammed the door behind him. Maria came into view again; her was now manner calmer, more cordial. "Please, Captain Hornblower, follow me."

The salon stank heavily of spice and a thin layer of smoke still lingered; petty conjuring and parlor tricks, thought Horatio, meant to impress the impressionable mind and empty its pockets. Maria indicated the settee; Bush sat somewhat dazed by his surroundings while Horatio remained standing. "How may I help you today?" she asked, sitting delicately upon the nearby loveseat and considering them curiously. Her black cat sauntered up to her, positioning itself by her legs and watching them with equal inquisitiveness as her master. "Is it to do with Charlotte again?"

"It is to do with us all," Horatio replied, his arms folded behind his back as he paced back and forth uneasily. "Old Mother was nearly killed last night; she was trying to banish the creature Charlotte had dreamed of and it attacked her." He heard Maria's sharp intake of breath and knew he had her full attention now. "And several girls have gone missing, one just this morning. We located one; she had been horribly brutalized but she is alive. We need to know if you entertain a client from the Chase; a white man perhaps? Around my friend here Lieutenant Bush's age? Large, sturdy, with dark blonde hair and eyes like ice?"

"I have entertained no such patron here," Maria answered evenly. "Not from the Chase. But there is one who visits me from Myrtle, not a man but a woman with golden hair and green eyes. I suppose she would be about that age." Horatio felt as if he had been punched in the gut; he didn't even want to follow that thought out to its logical conclusion. "She already had knowledge of our rites, she knew of many of our ways," Maria continued. "She wanted to know more, dark things that I do not even teach my most avid of learners."

"You knew!" Horatio spat out. "I came to you after Charlotte was attacked and you knew and did not say anything?! You put Charley in danger, you put all of us in danger!" he said, throwing a sympathetic glance at Bush.

"I did not understand at the time!" Maria said in her own defense. "I did not think of her; I never believed she would practice what I had taught her. I was midwife at Abigail's birth, I would never want to put her or Charley or even Martha in harm's way, you must believe me!"

"Did she tell you her name?" Bush asked softly, speaking up for the first time since they had entered Maria Alva's residence.

"I guarantee anonymity," she told them, her heart heavy with the realization of what she had done. "That is what keeps my clientele coming back to me."

Bush turned to Horatio, "You're not thinking...?"

The captain's face was like stone but in his eyes Bush could see such a mixture of emotions that he could not distinguish one from another. "I am thinking we should be getting back to the Chase as soon as possible," Horatio answered firmly.

"I'll come with you, I can help" Maria said resolutely. "Let me retrieve my wrap."


	18. Chapter 18

Horatio felt a sigh of agitated relief escape him as he recognized the tree shaded dirt lane the barouche was trundling down; they were getting close. He exchanged a nervous glance with Bush, both of the gentlemen refocusing their dubious attentions on the woman sitting across from them. She gave the outward appearance of calm but Horatio could see the slight furrow to her brow. Her white blouse and turban in contrast to the dark richness of her skin made her glow in the brightness of the early afternoon sun, and thus shading her eyes from view, making her eye sockets seem empty and sunken; Horatio found the result to be most unsettling. She wore all manner of charms and necklaces about her neck which rattled together noisily every time the couch jolted, making Horatio jump each time at the unexpected noise. He didn't entirely trust her but then again he didn't really have a choice; Old Mother injured and Bones was no where near strong enough to face this unnatural creature. 'The Taint', that's how Horatio had come to think of it. "We're close now," Maria said, playing with one of her beaded necklaces and speaking for the first time since they had boarded the carriage as the sun hid its brilliant face behind the beginnings of a wispy gray storm cloud and the distant sound of thunder gave a low protesting rumble upon the darkening horizon.

Horatio was dismayed to see Bones waiting upon the steps to the grand main entrance to the manor house as the carriage approached; the ever blackening sky rolling in from over the sea in stark contrast to the still sun brightened Chase grounds, making them gleam with an almost blinding radiance. Bones' skin looked like ebony, his expression was dire. "I'm sorry, sir," the man started as Horatio stepped out of the coach. He seemed relieved by Mambo Maria's presence. "We looked everywhere; you know we did! It's like he just...disappeared into thin air."

"Or into the locked parts of the house," responded Horatio. "He could have taken the master key from her at any time or..." He didn't even have the heart to speak the accusation. "Where's Charlotte? I need to speak with her immediately. Is she still with Old Mother."

"Afraid not," a new voice chimed in as Samuel joined them. Martha fell to sleep some time ago thanks to a bit of laudanum for the pain and Charlotte left her to attend to my granddaughter's sup. What's wrong, have you discovered something?" But the question came to late, Horatio was already pushing past him and taking the main stairway two steps at a time.

He could hear Abbie crying from far down the hallway and he knew that something was wrong at once. Quickening his pace, he burst into the nursery only to find Hill cradling his daughter in her arms trying to calm the wailing babe. "Captain Hornblower," she sighed, bouncing the infant slightly in her protective arms, "thank goodness. She'll not be quiet, I don't know...?"

"Where is she?!" he blurted out rather more piercingly than he ought to have but he had no time for formalities and such nonsense. "Where is Mrs. Hornblower, why is she not attending to Abigail?!"

"Mrs. Lilywhite, sir," Hill answered, somewhat bewildered and taken aback by his terse manner. Something was amiss, she could sense it immediately. "About an hour ago, she came here and requested Charley's help in some matter. Abigail's tummy was full so she agreed; she told me she'd be right back to check her nappy. Over an hour ago, sir. It's not like her to just leave Abigail. She's in danger isn't she?"

Horatio had hardly heard a word the woman had said save for her first incriminating statement: Mrs. Lilywhite. Dammit! He had not wanted to believe it; Marjorie had been so kind, so attentive since he'd arrived. Why would she ever want to hurt Charlotte, hurt any of the Myrtle girls; what possible reason could she have? Anger and helplessness welled up in him, like hounds baying to a crescendo until he could stand it no longer. With a shout of pure rage and anguish, he threw his fist at the door. The thin wood buckled and splintered at the contact, leaving his knuckles bloodied and raw. He crumpled to the floor, furious at himself for the hot tears that were now cascading down his cheek as he sobbed. He felt his father's strong arms around him, helping him once more to his feet, supporting him as only parent could child; emotionally and physically. Horatio remembered himself quickly, composing himself and wiping the tears away with one last decisive sniffle. He put his hand over his father's where it rested upon his shoulder. "Mrs. Lilywhite," he managed to say as he forced his breathing to calm. "I don't know what she's about, but she's in this; either with or against her husband, she's in this." He turned to find Bones and Bush standing beside his father; both with resolve and sympathy written in their eyes. They both knew well how this felt. Maria was there as well, staring off into the distance as if she could see something beyond their sight.

"They haven't left the grounds," Horatio said firmly, "I know they haven't. He wouldn't have dared risk it with you searching for him. No, they're hiding somewhere inside the Chase. Where?" Bones told them that they'd already investigated the crypts where Beatrice had been found and doubted he'd risk returning there. Horatio nodded. "Tell me, are there any parts of the house that have been closed off, parts that only someone with a master key could get in and out of?"

"The old wing, sir," Hill piped in over Abbie's incessant howling. "Ain't no one gone in there since the Old Master died."

"Right, then that's where we're going," Horatio replied fiercely.

It made a perverse sort of sense to Samuel as he followed on his son's determined heels, matching his long legs stride for stride. The Lilywhite's had been polluting him with their prejudice ever since he arrived, subtly dropping hints and allegations about the nature of Horatio and Charlotte's relationship. And he had listened to them. He, an educated, open man, had listened because they were white and Charlotte was a Negro, or half so. He cursed himself for being so gullible, so narrow-minded.

"This it?" Horatio asked as they reached two giant double doors blocking the corridor. Bones nodded and Horatio tried the handled. Just as he suspected it was soundly locked. Oddly enough, though the door looked about to crumble, the catch was shining and new. "Right," he said through clenched teeth, "all four at once. Come on, men, put your backs into it!" At his word, they, the four of men, lined up their shoulders against the doors and put all their weight behind a great heave forward while Maria stood behind and watched. The slightly rotting wood gave way fairly easily, opening into a dark, dank hallway. The heavy smell of tropical decay floated out towards them carried on the stagnant, fetid air inside. They moved cautiously, wary of the creaking floorboards beneath their feet. The walls were moldering in the stiflingly humid passage, curtains had decayed away and fallen to the thick damp carpets long ago while painting canvases warped and shriveled in their frames.

Doors lined the hall; all were unlocked save one pair, a particularly opulent looking set, carved of heavy oak. "This is it, behind here," Bush determined and Horatio agreed. Once again the men shoved against the door; this one caved less easily but they were dogged and finally they were successful. The manor's original master bedroom was revealed with their efforts and Bush let out a growl of distress and of relief as they entered. There, upon the enormous four-poster bed's broken frame and spoiling mattress was Justine's motionless form. Her wrists were tied together above her head and tied to the headboard, a dirty cloth was pressed into her mouth. Her face was purpling with fresh bruises and her clothes were disheveled; with horror, Bush realized as he set about untying her that she had probably been violated, maybe more than once. He lifted her into his arms, her head rolling loosely against his shoulder. Both Samuel and Maria sped to his side to examine the girl.

"She'll be fine," he assured Bush and saw the officer let out his breath. Maria confirmed this with a nod. "She's suffered less injury than Beatrice, though, still she was..." The older man looked into the younger's blue-green eyes. Bush nodded in grieved understanding.

"Will?" her voice was so small, so hoarse it took them all a minute to comprehend that she had actually spoken. "Will?" she asked again, as if she was frightened this was but another delusion of her fevered mind. She put her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his sturdy chest, smiling as she realized he was indeed real.

"You're safe now, Justine, I'm here," he said, hugging her tightly to him and kissing her softly on the forehead. "I'm here, my sweet."

Embarrassed by the scene and restless to find Charlotte, Horatio began to search around. There were footprints in the thick dust on the floor and he followed them to a desk at the corner of the room. On its surface lay books, leather bound ledgers which, unlike their surroundings, were completely unaffected by age and decay. These had been looked through, even used, recently. Horatio guessed that these were what had been taken from the Old Master's study. He opened the first one and almost staggered backwards in disgust. The formerly blank page was now covered with all manner of obscene and depraved drawings, each showing in almost a cartoon appearance a white man in a lewd sexually position with a black girl. In the majority of the vignettes, the man seemed to be receiving sexual pleasure from the humiliation or physical harm of the girl. She was drawn as dim, subservient, while the man veritably winked at the viewer about how much cleverer he was, waving his dick around and thrusting it into her in triumph. He flipped through the book and was greeted by more of the same; some of the faces he recognized. While the body of the girl remained the same from scribbling to scribbling, the face was often a caricature of one of the house girls; he found Beatrice and Justine in there. And Charlotte. He dropped the book, feeling as if he was going to be sick.

"Sweet Jesu," Samuel said in disgust as Bones fetched the book from the floor and the two men leafed through it. "Who could be so depraved?!" Bones spat on it and spoke something that no one but Maria caught.

Horatio risked another of the tomes. This one seemed like a legitimate ledger with names lined vertically along the left hand side while markings and more names were used to indicate something as you went across the page horizontally. Upon closer inspection, Horatio realized that all the names were female. He found the key to decoding the symbols and was again appalled and shocked. A number placed next to the woman's name denoted how much she was 'wanted' by the author, another next to that expressed how willing she was. Then came the number of children born of the union and their names, a cross being scrawled next to them in notation of their deaths. All but one: Charlotte's remained untainted by the cross' unfortunate implications. The Old Master had actually kept a journal of all the women he had defiled, servants whose lives he had forever corrupted.

What was worse was that the list continued in newer ink; names had been added recently including Beatrice and Justine, as well as the two other missing girls, Adeline and Prudence. The penmanship was uneven, untrained; Lilywhite, Horatio thought instantly and said it aloud.

"No," Justine said, finally finding her legs so she could stand on her own and approaching. "Mr. Lilywhite's hand is skilled, competent; I've watched him take inventory. That looks like Mrs. Lilywhite's letters." Damn and double damn, Horatio thought to himself; she was in this deeper than he had wished, her role becoming clearer by the minute.

"This leads to the garret," Maria said surely though she of course really had no way of knowing it was so as she indicated a set of shallow stairs hidden behind a narrow door. "This is where our answers lie, this is where we must go." Outside, they could here the complaining of thunder grow nearer as rain began to pelt the shutters and outside walls of the Chase.


	19. Chapter 19

It had turned black as night over the grounds as the storm had pounded its way landward from over the sea, not that it made any difference to Old Mother as she stared out into the blank nothingness that had become her vision. She placed another card, face up, upon the uneven wooden floor of the kitchen house; they had begun to take on a shape, an odd formation. Then the heaven opened and she could hear the rain coming down upon the roof like the hammer of the Gods. Light footfalls brought her attention to the doorway and the howling wind sweeping in from the opened door blew a fine spray onto her aged face. It ceased as the door was closed. "Come in, child," Old Mother cackled with a smile. "Sit by da fire wit yar Old Mother and we can read da cards together."

Beatrice walked slowly to where the biddy sat and curled up in the blanket she had wrapped around herself on the hearth. She glanced at the cards, her eyes wide and her limbs shaking with apprehension and the exertion it had taken to walk out there. "Something's coming," she said hoarsely.

"Someting already here, girl!" Old Mother said, the wrinkles of her forehead furrowing even deeper as she frowned. "The loa, dey be all around us, whispering, whispering in my ears. Already here."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Shhhh...shhhhhhh," Hill tried to soothe the bellowing babe in her arms. "Your mama is fine; she'll be back any minute, you'll see. You papa will bring her back. Oh, do not cry, little thing, you'll wear yourself out!" Abigail stared dubiously out with her red watery eyes, watching as shadows shifted and flickered in the disquieting glow of the candlelight and rain beat against the shutters, thunder and lightning cracking uncomfortably close to the manor house. Little Abbie knew it too; something was here.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio made his way careful up the rickety little staircase to the garret and Bush, Samuel and Maria Alva followed cautiously, testing each step before they put their full weight onto it to make sure it would not give beneath them. He was feeling a pang of regret for having let Bones, who knew of these things better than the rest of them save for Maria, go but he did not want Justine here nor did he want her wandering around unescorted and unprotected. He had told Bush, ordered him as his superior, to take Justine and go, to make she sure went someplace guarded and to keep her there until this was all over but the man had valiantly defied a direct command. He had stood beside his captain in battle before and this would be no different, even though Horatio could see the conflict within his friend's gray-green eyes; he wanted to see his lover safe but desired as well to stay by his captain's side and fight. Seeing that Bush would not be dissuaded, he asked Bones to see to it. He hoped they were safely away by now but had no idea how far that would have to be. Was any part of the Chase really safe anymore?

There was no door at the top of the narrow flight of stairs but instead a plush curtain that smelled heavily of mold as Horatio pushed it aside. He stepped inside and found the entire attic to be divided by such curtains, meticulously hung, making it into a maze of crimson velvet. A heavy perfume of spices and herbs hung in the air, overpowering their senses and reminding Horatio a great deal of Maria's mysterious parlor, and the rain was deafening against the ceiling as it continued to come down in wild cacophony.

Maria rushed past him and drew back one of the curtains, nodding as she confirmed something she apparently had suspected all along. "Altars," she told them, exposing as she pulled the cloth back a table covered in dripping candles and all sorts of offering including a bottle of rum and a suspicious-looking sanguineous liquid that Horatio did not want to take too close a look at. Several other curtains revealed much of the same.

Finally they made their way to what appeared to be meant as the main chamber within the scarlet labyrinth. A small round window about waist-high shed no light as the black clouds and the blinding deluge of the storm blanketed the sky and earth; it was too dirty to look out of anyways. A modest brass bed sat unassumingly against the wall just beneath a slope in the ceiling, its coverlet a surprising pristine white against the gloom and decay of its surroundings. Upon it lay the slumbering form of James Lilywhite, looking for all the world contented and satisfied with a small smug smile twisting his thin lips. It sickened Horatio; he strode right over to the man and struck him as hard as he could. It barely registered on Lilywhite's face and he did not even stir save for the initial movement caused by the impact of Horatio's fist into his jaw. "A trance," Maria concluded as Horatio looked to her questioningly. "Come here and see this," she beckoned, kneeling beside yet another altar. But this one was different from the others; even Horatio's untrained eye could see that.

Candles encircled three glass jars filled with a gray powder; 'cemetery dust' Maria had called it and for once Horatio understood without it having to be explained to him. The coffin in the Old Master's crypt had been broken into, most likely to retrieve exactly that from the casket. Remains. Personal effects littered the altar, an earring here, a pendant there; all women's objects. The victims. Horatio recognized a chain Charlotte was fond of wearing around her neck and quickly took it in hand, shoving it into his pocket. "What is all this?" he asked Maria.

The old woman was frowning, her face a tense knot of emotion and reverence as she lifted one of the jars, examining it. "Very dangerous magics," she hissed, "very dangerous. You call this zombie; the soul has been trapped in the jar, made to serve its master. In this case, it has been attacking the targets chosen by its master; the service girls of the Chase," she fingered some of the objects scattered about of the floor. "Magic this strong is very hard to control or contain; it is no wonder Martha was injured confronting it. I would be surprised if the person behind this truly had any dominion over these spirits at all."

"Oh but I do," Marjorie said, stepping out from behind one of the curtains. She held Charlotte tightly in her grasp, one hand pressed firmly around her neck as she pushed her along in front of herself, the other holding a pistol to her hostage's temple. Charley's hands were tied behind her back and a dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth. "They obey me. Don't move, Captain Hornblower!" she shouted, perceiving Horatio's preparedness for attack. "I don't want to hurt Charley; I've been fond of her since we met. But they want her, they've wanted her from the start."

"I thought they obeyed your command," Bush sneered.

"Everyone has their debts to pay," snapped Mrs. Lilywhite.

"This is the woman who came to me and she is lying," Maria Alva said with contempt. "She can barely control them; she gives them Charley to placate them. It is true, they are her servants; but servants can turn rebellious. Your husband, he is in a hypnotic rapture; is that to protect him or do they feed off him? Do they use his power, his hatred, his appetites to sustain their own?"

"James? My husband is far too obtuse to understand the subtleties of the dark arts! He's a colonist; born and bred of English stock. That's why, don't you see? He was susceptible, vulnerable to their wicked wiles! It's not his fault! I grew up here, on a plantation on Haiti, my father was footman there; I know of their ways, oh yes! Don't you understand? They must be punished, all of them," Marjorie said calmly, slowly, as if she were explaining a complex idea to a child. "He was so unprotected, naked to their schemes," she said, turning her head to glance fondly at the peacefully sleeping figure of her husband. Samuel took advantage of the moment of distraction and began to inch forward. Marjorie's head snapped back and she pressed the pistol all the harder into Charlotte's flesh. "Did you not hear me the first time? They prefer her alive but her body can still be ravaged dead!" Dr. Hornblower shot his son a regretful look and Horatio nodded, assuring him silently that he'd done his best and thanking him for it.

"They're temptresses, all; their heathen mothers lured pure men into their bed, mixed their whore blood with our own. Their depraved offspring is no different," she continued. "They are a savage unholy breed, against our God in heaven. My father explained it all to me; I understand their ways. I was only trying to protect you, all of you. Can't you understand that? Those, women, they seduced my husband...."

"He violated them against their will!" Horatio bit off through clenched teeth. His eyes were following Charlotte, keeping her gaze steady with hers as he tried to hearten her that he would make everything right. The horror, the degradation, the pleading he saw in her dark eyes cut at him like a dagger.

"No, no, it wasn't his fault!" she insisted. Her manner was becoming wilder, more unstable; Horatio feared she might do something rash any moment. The time to act had to be soon. He saw Maria Alva out of the corner of his eye, still kneeling by the altar but now her lips were moving; silently she was reciting something. A prayer or a spell, perhaps? Something to help them, Horatio hoped. "Just as it wasn't Lieutenant Bush's fault that that little half-blood chit made her way into his good graces and then his bed or yours, Captain Hornblower, that Charlotte used your seed to propagate her ungodly kind. Oh yes, I know all about that! My father explained it all to me; he knew! They must be made to learn their place!"

"How many brothers and sisters did you have, Marjorie?" Samuel asked gently, his brow creasing as he tried to look sympathetic.

"None!" she screeched, spittle flying from her mouth madly. She was obviously deranged. "Those were not my siblings; their mothers beguiled my father, he was not aware of his actions. He took them, they enchanted him to do so, the nigger bitches! Order has to be maintained! Order had to be restored to the Chase and they must be made to learn their place!"

"The old master," Horatio said, chancing a glare towards the altar. Maria was shaking now, her silent words coming faster from her lips than before; she looked as if ecstasy was upon her. It could have just been the play of the dim candlelight but the shadows appeared to be shifting menacingly around them. "And who are the other two? Raynier, for certain, and... Arnauds? But, he isn't dead."

"Wasn't when he left the Chase," explained Marjorie. "He was killed in prison during a riot. It took a fair amount of bribery to get at the body, I'll tell you that. But all I needed was a part, one finger would do. He is the strongest because his soul was still about his body when they dumped it into his shallow grave. They were masters here once and it was a golden time!"

"But I am master here now!" Horatio growled. Something was happening, he could feel it at the back of his neck; the hair on his arms was standing on end. The time to move would be soon; he could feel the adrenaline pulsing through him, felt it take over as he did in battle. He was no longer thinking or acting consciously. Marjorie was protesting but Horatio persisted, "Do you hear me?! I am master, you have no dominion over me; you have no dominion over the living. Myrtle Chase is mine, I am master!"

"No!!!" Marjorie cried as the shadows congealed and exploded into one foul entity. It writhed and cursed at Horatio's words, reaching out towards Maria with its clawed appendages. Horatio rushed Mrs. Lilywhite, wrenching Charlotte from her grasp in the moment of surprise and pushing his wife away to safety. They struggled for the pistol, Horatio trying to aim it away from anywhere it could do harm while Marjorie struggled to point it towards Mambo Alva. It went off in their hands, Mr. Lilywhite silently spasmodically jerking upon the bed. Blood spread like a blossoming flower, a rose, against the clean white coverlet; the stray shot had pierced him through the heart. "Bastards!!!" Marjorie cried, running to her husbands side, cradling his head against her bosom, sobbing. Horatio didn't even feel the smallest pang of condolence.

The shadow creature began to convulse around Maria now, the altar jars shattering one by one as it enveloped her, it offensive extremities boring into every part of her. "Banish, banish," she was mumbling through groans of what sounded like ecstasy. She convulsed, throwing her head back and screaming so loudly that the thunder from the heavens beyond sounded like a toy drum in comparison. The shadows dissipated with a howl, its shrieking combined with the animalistic noise coming from Maria's throat shattered the small rounded window, glass bursting outwards as the rain started to patter in through the broken glass. Mambo Alva's body fell loosely to the ground. And then Archie was there, and Mrs. Bennett, and a girl around twelve years of age that reminded Horatio inexplicably of his Abbie. And then in a flash of lightning they were all gone and Bush was kneeling next to Maria as Samuel untied and comforted his weeping daughter-in-law. "Always knew...stronger than Martha," mumbled Maria as her body went limp and she died with a triumphant smile upon her lips.

"She's not been harmed," Samuel told his son as he rushed to his wife's side. "She's just a bit shocked, that's all." Charlotte, who had been leaning appreciatively into the strong protective circle of Dr. Hornblower's arms, gladly threw her own around Horatio's neck, burrowing her face into his neck with kisses. He could feel her trembling as he gently stroked his long fingers comfortingly down the curve of her back.

"How could I have been so blind?" she whispered through a sting of tears.

"It wasn't your fault," Horatio said, taking her face in his large hands and kissing her softly. "Oh, my sweet, it wasn't your fault." They embraced and he held her as tightly as he could without fear of hurting her and he found that he was now shedding tears of his own. "Come, let's go from this place," he said softly, glancing towards Marjorie who was still fussing over her dead husband, still ranting about how it wasn't really his fault. "It stinks of death."


	20. Chapter 20

The sun began to drowsily show its pale face sometime around noon the next day, peeking out from behind the now wispy scattering of gray clouds; patches of blue sky could increasingly be seen as the hour wore on. The storm had ravaged the grounds; trees had been overturned at the roots, limbs and palm fronds were strewn everywhere, and the barn had caved in. And the cemetery had been flooded, pushing caskets to the surface and revealing the shallowly buried bodies of three young women in varied states of decomposition. It was assumed that these were Adeline and Prudence, the third being unknown but some had guessed that she might have been a prostitute brought to the Chase by James Lilywhite. Horatio wondered how many of them there had been before he started attacking the servant girls.

The constabulary had come earlier to take away James' body and, as well, to fetch Marjorie, who was now fully unhinged. Samuel had overheard the servants gossiping that she had gotten one of the constable's pistols away from them and had shot herself before they had even reached Kingston though that had just been idle prattle and he didn't give much stock to it. So many secrets brought to the surface, Dr. Hornblower reflected as he stood on the verandah, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the damage to the lands passively. He felt his son's presence behind him before he even heard his heavy footsteps upon the damp wood of the porch. He wondered if that is what happened when you spent too much time at Myrtle Chase; your senses were sharpened at odd angles. "What happened last night?" he asked.

He felt Horatio shrug. "Don't know. Charlotte thanks you--I thank you--for being here; it meant the world to both of us." Samuel didn't reply, the small smile upon his lips as he turned his head slightly to regard his offspring said enough. He knew his son too well, knew the look of concern that darkened his offspring's brow. He remembered what it was like, being a young father, wanting to protect your family from everything, carrying that burden. It wasn't always easy but he knew Horatio would do just fine.

"Abigail was fussing," Horatio informed him, trying to keep his tone neutral but Samuel could detect the note of pride in his voice whenever he spoke of his daughter. How had it come to this? How had a distance so great grown between Horatio and the man he had always adored and looked up to? Had his naval career made him so self-assured that he had forgotten the man who had always been a hero in the eyes of a shy, awkward boy? Horatio was just beginning to comprehend what it felt like to be a father, what it meant, and some how he felt that bringing him closer to his parent.

"She is a good child," Dr. Hornblower confirmed with a nod. "And...you've found yourself a good wife. She reminds me of your mother sometimes."

"I miss mother too," Horatio found himself saying before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.

"She would be proud of you," he told his son assuredly, "as am I." Horatio was horrified to feel a single hot tear trickle down his cheek; he nodded only in response, afraid his voice might break with emotion if he tried to put voice to what he was feeling. "I missed your letters, when you stopped writing. I looked forward to receiving them."

"I wasn't sure you still wanted to hear from me."

"You're my son," Samuel said simply, placing his hand on Horatio's shoulder and squeezing tightly. "And I am exceedingly glad of it." He turned his gaze back to the grounds, taking a deep breath as he let the slightly damp but refreshing tropical air fill his lungs. "I saved each one, you know. I was very proud, but not more so than now; seeing the man you have become... It's more than a father could have wished for." They stood there in comfortable silence together, watching as the workers struggled to tidy the grounds. Horatio couldn't remember the last time he was so at peace with the man.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Abbie chuckled, making Charlotte laugh as the babe curled into her mother's breast and continued to nurse. Horatio entered their bedroom quietly, wishing to observe the tender scene without disturbing it. His wife was laying in their bed, reclining against the pillow, their daughter lovingly snuggled into her arms. She looked happy, at rest now which did Horatio's heart no end of good. He had spent the night just holding her, protecting her, whispering every word of devotion and comfort he could think of. And who could blame her for being so distressed after what she had been through? She hadn't wept, not once, though he had felt her soft body quivering slightly in his strong embrace on several occasions. Now she, like the Chase itself, seemed to have found serenity.

She turned her head to him and smiled, extending her hand towards him. He took it between his own two, kissing the back of her fingers gently before following it back down onto the bed. He settled his body down next to hers on the down mattress, kissing her neck softly. "You are feeling better?" he asked, brushing a few silken strands of her hair from her face. He ran his fingertip along her bottom lip before capturing it with his mouth in a hungry kiss.

She sighed languorously, stretching like a cat as she smiled at him. "Enormously," she answered coyly, giving his lower lip a small nip. Abigail, apparently finished with her meal, shifted in her mama's arms and made a grab at Horatio's large hand, cooing happily as she sucked on the tip of his forefinger.

"Ahhhh, not as good as mummy, is it?" Horatio grinned, throwing his wife a wicked glance. She pinched him, wrinkling her nose impishly, and he laughed quietly; the baby gurgling her approval at the merry sound. Charlotte moved, preparing to slip out of bed to return Abbie to the nursery but Horatio encumbered her progress. "You are to stay in bed and relax, that is an order! Is that understood, Mrs. Hornblower?" he said with mock sternness as he took their child from her arms.

"Aye aye, sir," Charlotte responded with a salute as she watched her husband stand and rock Abbie in his arms. The baby babbled happily as he bounced her up and down lightly. "Old mother came to see me before," she told him, watching with a warm heart as Horatio cradled their child playfully. "She's making her way about well, considering her circumstance. She was glad to see I was... well, she was much glad to know I was unharmed. We talked of Abigail..." She was reluctant to divulge their full conversation on that matter, even to Horatio. 'Midnight's child, dat girl; shadow and light both'. Maybe another day. "She is a very special girl; Old Mother believes it so as well. And we spoke of Auntie Maria; I'd like to bury her on the grounds of the Chase."

"That is well," Horatio nodded solemnly, heading towards the nursery. Charlotte reminded him not to forget to check Abbie's nappy and he replied with a curt grunt. She laughed lightly and he couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his lips. He returned a moment later, running his hands through the water in the wash basin, toweling them dry and striding over to the bed. Charlotte had made a half-hearted attempt to cover herself with the thin cotton of her unbuttoned shift and, with a seductive look in her dark eyes, ran a single finger along the exposed inside curve of the swell of her breast.

"I think I could use some assistance in relaxing, Captain Hornblower, sir," she said flirtatiously.

"Come here, you saucy wench," he growled with a sharp twinkle in his eyes as he climbed atop her. He nibbled at her neck, placing sucking kisses along her collarbone as he inhaled her intoxicating scent of excitement and spice. He felt her legs part for him beneath the coverlet that lay between them, sending an unmistakable thrill through him as he pressed his groin into the soft cradle of her thighs; her body was so sweet, so yielding against his. He kissed her lips passionately, running his fingers along her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. "Are you sure you're up to this, my Charley?"

She grinned wickedly, wriggling her hips, feeling the bulge of his cock between layers of fabric grow larger and harder. "It seems you already are," she said, moving her hand down his body and running her palm against the strong columnar outline of his manhood straining to be freed from his breeches. "I love you," she whispered, kissing him upon his lusciously full lips.

He closed his eyes and smiled, burying his face into the glossy fall of her ebony hair. "Love you back," he murmured, nuzzling her ear. He kissed his way along her jaw to her mouth, down the gentle arch of her neck to the valley between her lush breasts. He grasped the abundantly full globes in his big hands, pulling aside the gaping material of her chemise with his thumbs while kneading delicately. He exposed one pert nipple to his hungry gaze and mouth, his thick tongue circling it, flicking the nub teasingly before he drew it into the hot moistness of his mouth. The hot press of his wet lips sent shivers down her spine and wrested boisterous pants and moans from her throat as she twined her fingers in his fine curls, admiring how they seemed to slip over her fingertips like silk. She couldn't imagine anyone else making her feel as unbelievably divine as Horatio did, pleasuring her the way he did. She loved the way he loved her; the way he made her feel so cherished, the way he satisfied her so completely, body and soul.

Horatio suckled her voraciously, devouring the milk of her motherhood as if it were the sweetest nectar mingled with headiest of wines; no more precious or delectable a elixir could there be found, he was convinced of it. He moved his mouth back to hers, allowing her to taste it herself on his lips and tongue as he raised himself slightly above her, pulling the bed coverings away from her and to the side and began tugging her shift up to her waist. He felt the cool touch of her fingertips against the overheated skin of his back and chest as her hands snaked up into his loose shirt, caressing him reverently. His hands fell to his trousers, fingers fumbling to undo the fastenings until finally he sprang free, proud and erect, skin stretched and engorged to its fullest. He sank into her as he would a warm bath, the dewy silken passage of her womanhood excepting him eagerly and clasping around him most deliciously as he immersed himself in her feminine curves; she was so incredibly soft where he was hard, so smooth where he was rough.

Grasping the backs of her knees, her brought her legs up beneath his arms, pushing in harder, watching the look of bliss bordering on agony that crossed her features, listening to the exhilarating sounds of pleasuring that came from her gently parted lips. Tenderly he lifted her ankles up to his shoulders, draping her legs against his back, achieving the deepest penetration possibly. He thrust his cock vigorously into the very inner most part of her until she felt as if he were piercing her heart itself!

"Ahhhhh, Horatio! Ohhhhh," she moaned, his pelvic bone grinding against her clitoris on each of his fierce forward plunges. Her body exploded with sensation, her ecstatic cries echoing her realization of bliss. Horatio quickened his pace until he followed her, the marvelous tingling in his groin exploding into a flood of warmth as he exploded inside of her, pumping until he had spilled his last drop into his beloved's womb.

He rolled off of her, panting heavily and excepting her into his arms strongly as she nestled into his side. "Good Gawd," he chuckled, that familiar and fantastic sense of drowsiness creeping over his limbs. Charlotte returned his smile, draping her arm across his chest and stroking his stomach affectionately. They drifted into sleep together, arms locked tightly about each other in an ardent embrace as the sound of the mild breeze through the palms just beyond the verandah proved a winsome lullaby.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte knew it would come eventually as she stared down at the dispatches in her hand; whether it had been a week or a month, it was inevitable that the wife of a sailor face such a thing. Horatio was being called back to sea. It had been little over a month since her husband had come home to her and now they were taking him away from her again. She sighed, thanking Emery, the butler who had received the packet of documents at the door and forced her feet to take her to the drawing room, where Horatio sat with his father conversing openly and amiably. Both men stood to greet her as she entered and her heart fell along with Horatio's features as he recognized what she was carrying. He took them from her, admiring deeply her bravery as she stood tall before the dispatches.

"We are to set sail again in a sennight," Horatio informed both of them loudly as he read from the papers. He took his wife's hand and squeezed gently. "I'd better inform Will."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Good day to ye, Mrs. Hornblower, ma'am," the familiar grizzled visage of Mr. Matthews greeted Charlotte as she came aboard Ardent. He glanced dubiously at her companion, a young woman in a plain gray uniform and a modest white mob cap.

"My maid, Justine; she accompanies me," Charlotte explained and her attendant curtsied politely. Matthews nodded and directed the two ladies to the captain's cabin where he said the Captain and First Lieutenant Bush were waiting to say their farewells. She thanked him and made her way across the deck escorted by the man she recognized by appearance and reputation as Mr. Styles. He disappeared a moment into Horatio's cabin to announce them and then she was shown in. She smiled as Horatio embraced her, kissing her softly on the cheek. He whispered a randy little sentiment in her ear that made her giggle and suggested that perhaps they take a walk and leave Justine and Bush to say their good-byes. She agreed and they left to take a walk along the deck arm in arm.

"Close your eyes," Bush whispered to Justine, his hands just barely grazing her waist as he stood behind her.

"Will..." she giggled suspiciously.

"Trust me?" he breathed huskily in her ear and she found herself nodding her assent without even realizing she was doing so. She put her hands over her eyes and felt his fingers gently brush her neck as on odd sort of weight fell between her breasts. She opened her eyes, looking down to examine the pendant he had placed around her neck. It was a lovely silver heart shaped bauble at the end of a sterling chain that fell right at the crest of her bosom. She turned it over in her hand, her eyes becoming misty as she felt the cool surface beneath her fingertips. "To remember me by," he told her, kissing her neck softly. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, Will," she said, barely able to hold back her tears of joy as she threw her arms around his neck. "It's perfect. I'll cherish it."

Putting his fingers to her stubborn chin he tilted her head back so he could gaze into her eyes. "Will you miss me?" he asked.

"Oh, Will..." He cut her off with a kiss; deep, passionate, soft and sweet as the petals of a rose yet unmistakable in its longing. He stared into her eyes, wiping her tears from her cheeks with his thumb. He kissed her again, hoping he would get the chance to do so many more time.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What will I do without you," Charlotte said, lovingly hugging Horatio's arm. They paused at the rail and glanced out towards the sea, the bright blue waves dancing and glittering in the morning sun. He put his arm around her waist, pulling her closely.

"You managed before," he told her.

"Hardly," she scoffed. "The Lilywhites..."

"Were a mistake," he said firmly. "Do you think that Mrs. Bennett never made a mistake?"

"My mistake costs lives," Charlotte said, lowering her eyes as she felt Horatio's arm tighten around her reassuringly. "How could I not have known, how could I not have seen it?"

"Do not blame yourself for the evils of others, my sweet," he kissed her forehead. "They were wicked people and you are not to be held accountable for their actions. I have every faith in you, my love." He bowed his head and captured her lips with his, kissing her deeply, his tongue tickling her own, daring it to a dance. "Love you forever," he smiled, whisking a few stray tresses of her sable hair from her cheeks and neck.

"And I you, Captain Hornblower," she grinned, kissing the tip of his nose. "Think of me when you dream at night?"

He laid his hand over his breast pocket over his heart where he kept always the miniature of his wife that Mrs. Bennett had given him as a wedding gift before her untimely demise. "Always, my love," he pledged. He truly believed he was a part of this haunted isle now, as Charlotte was, as Myrtle Chase was; he was connected to them, bound by heart and soul. His daughter would grow in his time away and he found himself looking forward to his return already. Until then, the sea and his duty called; he could see the pride in her eyes as she fingered his epaulets and uniformal decorations playfully. He kissed her again and saw her and Justine off, watching as their carriage rolled away.

"Good one you got there," Matthews grinned, then added, "sir."

"Indeed, Matthews," Horatio grinned, "indeed. The finest."


	21. Epilogue

Horatio was dreaming; he could always tell. The sea seemed of the most bright sapphire, the green of the grounds as emeralds and the white sand of the beach he was standing upon snow. Old Mother was sitting upon a piece of drift wood, staring out towards the sea as if she could see each lazy wave through her blank eyes. Maria was sitting next to her one moment and was gone the next. A shout of joyful laughter turned his attention to a little girl playing in the sand nearby; it was the girl he had seen in the garret of the Chase, the one who reminded him of his Abbie. Bouncing brown curls adorned her head and dark brown eyes met his as she turned her twinkling stare to his, blowing him a kiss. She bent and began drawing strange and ritualistic shapes in the sand with a stick, humming a peculiar tune to the sound of invisible drums beating. "Gris-gris! I miss my daddy," she said, her voice light and melodious, "but he'll be back. Mummy has a surprise!" She grinned and continued her humming, taking Archie's hand and dancing around with him until the shape of his old friend faded from view.

Charlotte lay on a blanket, her back to him as Mrs. Bennett leaned over her and kissed her cheerily upon the forehead. She too was gone in the blink of an eye and Horatio approached. "I miss you," Charley said, turning now so he could see the gentle rise of her stomach. She put her hand over it. "He'll miss you."

Horatio was thunderstruck, gobsmacked as he lay on the blanket beside her and put his cheek to the swell of her tummy. "Him?" he asked and she confirmed with a nod. "I won't give him a chance to; or you or my little Abbie." He glanced towards the girl now playing in the surf. "I'll love you so well when I am home, you'll never be in want of it when I am away." She grinned and they both lay there, watching the azure tide lap at the shore in endless refrain.

**The End**  



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